


Nothing but the Worm in You

by Sunchales



Series: Lizard Kings and Insect Queens [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Food Porn, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Torture, Post-Canon, Psychic Abilities, Shrimpshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-02 22:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11519055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunchales/pseuds/Sunchales
Summary: Life drops a new opportunity into Rex and Weevil's laps: steal an artifact and receive powers and riches untold. But when they run afoul of their racket boss's chief rival and start recognizing hidden facets of their relationship, they have to make choices they never expected to make.





	1. Prologue: It All Begins with a Smutty Comic

**Author's Note:**

> _Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters_ and the characters within it are the creation of Kazuki Takahashi and the property of Konami. 
> 
> Warnings: The following story contains non-explicit references to hentai doujinshi, mostly mild cursing, drug trafficking, recreational drug use, non-graphic consensual sex, torture of an inimitable variety, and the self-directed use of derogatory terms for gay people (you know the kind of thing). There's also copious consumption of meat and other animal products, which may be offensive to vegans and vegetarians. No, seriously, this fic is a meat-eating extravaganza whenever food is involved, which is often.
> 
> The time is five years after _Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters_. The place, at least in the beginning, is Japanamerica, the nebulous setting created by 4Kids.
> 
> Dedication: To all the tabletop gaming nerds, the comic book nerds, the science fiction nerds, the anime nerds, the women who persevere in their fandom despite assholes who call them “fake geek girls,” the anthro nerds, the LARPers, the folks with galleries of fantasy art hanging from their walls, and, of course, the card game nerds, fanficcers, dinosaur aficionados, and entomo– and arachnophiles. This story is for you.

_We could be standing at the top of the world instead of sinking further down in the mud._  
—Meat Loaf, "All Revved up with No Place to Go"

"Oof!" 

Rex looked up at the closed door to what was, until a minute ago, his private room. No amount of pounding and yelling would gain him re-entry—Mai was not to be trifled with, as he had learned at his own expense. Grumbling, he picked up his cards from the floor and walked down the hall.

When he reached one particular door, a thought occurred to him. He did not absolutely have to consign himself to the communal quarters. With a little bit of persuasion, he could finagle his way into sharing someone else's—a specific someone else's—personal accommodations. After all, Rex knew no one else on the ship, and he _had_ exchanged a modicum of semi-friendly banter with the guy before their duel. He knocked on the door in front of him...

"Hey, Weevil!"

A brief pause ensued before the reply issued. "What do you want?"

"Can I sleep in your room tonight? I sorta kinda got kicked outta mine."

A snicker came from behind the door. "What, did you get caught smoking weed or something?"

 _The nerve of this guy!_ Rex balled his hand into a fist. "No, I lost a duel! Where do you get off calling me a pothead?"

"Hee hee! Well, okay." Weevil opened his door, revealing that he wore short cotton pajamas printed with spider webs. "But _you_ are sleeping on the sofa. I didn't win the championship to give my bed to somebody else."

"Eh, it's all right," said Rex, stepping into the room. Looking around, he observed that the suite resembled his in almost every detail, save for the addition of a potted fern in one corner.

Upon shutting the door, Weevil said, "Whatever you do in here, don't touch my backpack. If you lay a finger on my backpack or anything in it"—he pointed his own index finger in a preemptively accusatory gesture at Rex—"I will cut your hands off and wear them in my pockets for good luck!"

"Jeez, you lay it on thick. And I won’t touch your friggin’ backpack. Say, you got anything to eat? I don't have any of my snacks anymore." Mai was probably eating them now, he considered with a pang of bitterness. If she would ever deign to eat anything as sugary or greasy as what he kept lying around, anyway—the woman looked like a supermodel, which was how he got into this situation in the first place. Why did she have to be so attractive?

"Oh, I have snacks, but first you have to tell me how you lost your room 'cause of a duel." 

Rex sighed. "Okay, I let Mai in my room 'cause she didn't wanna sleep in the communal bunks and I sorta hoped she'd sleep with me if I shared my room with her, but then she tricked me into betting my room in a duel, and I was sure I'd win, but, well..." He gazed at the floor in silence.

Instead of speaking, Weevil's first reaction was to reach into his pocket and pull out a wrapped pair of toaster pastries. He unwrapped the silver coating, pushed the top pastry out slightly, and extended it to Rex.

"Help yourself."

With what he hoped was not too wide a smile, Rex snatched the manufactured confection from its package. Wordlessly, he stuffed what felt like a third of the pastry into his mouth.

“Well, that’s enough togetherness for me,” said Weevil, heading into his bedroom. “I’d love to stay up with you and listen to how you expect to crush the competition, and I’d love even more to tell you how _I_ plan to do the same thing, but it’s a little too late for that. Enjoy the couch, lizard brain!”

He closed the door, leaving Rex to take a seat, grumblingly, on the sofa. Well, he didn’t want to hear that pest ramble on about his strategies anyway, even if it would be fun to tell him about how he was going to improve his own deck. It was time for bed.

***

In the middle of the night, Rex’s eyes snapped open. The realization that he had not taken a shower in over twenty-four hours fell upon him.

He threw the blanket onto the floor. And the only bathroom he could get to was inside the bedroom—Weevil's bedroom....

Sighing, he rose from the couch and crept up to the door that separated the bedroom from the den. When he tried to turn the doorknob, he discovered to his relief that the door was unlocked, and he opened it and pushed on inside.

There, as expected, Weevil lay sleeping in a bed that looked too large for him. Taking care not to be too creepy, Rex transferred his gaze to the nightstand, where he thought he saw something under the pair of folded-up glasses that sat there. He then strode right along into the small enclosed bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the light. As he began to run the bathtub faucet, he prayed silently that he would not wake Weevil.

Eleven minutes later, when he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and another around his head, he allowed his eyes to rest on the still-sleeping Weevil's nightstand again. Rex noticed the trademark pair of spectacles folded up and set neatly atop the nightstand’s plastic surface—nothing was out of place there—but what was that underneath them?

On tiptoe, Rex sidled up to the nightstand, lifted the glasses, and picked up the mystery object between the very tips of his index and middle fingers. Whatever it was, it was made of paper. A novel? No, a comic.

Well, now he simply _had_ to check it out. _I'm not afraid of this punk. What's he gonna do, drink my blood?_ With the purloined item in hand, he retreated back into the bathroom. 

The front cover looked innocuous enough: two young men, one in a blue school uniform and white collared shirt and the other a green-haired fellow clad all in black, riding a green-and-gold dragon through a clear blue sky. Rex recognized them as characters from the RPG series _Dragon Yeomen_. That the artist had evidently forgotten that the green-haired youth and the dragon were the same character briefly gave Rex pause, but he let the matter pass. Then he opened the comic.

He was not prepared for what he saw.

After a few pages of preamble in a medieval European-style tavern, the two young men from the front cover got up to activities decidedly outside the realm of what the games depicted. That was one thing, but Rex stifled a gasp when he saw what happened after the green-haired youth transformed into a dragon. Not only that, but the young man in the school uniform revealed that he, too, had an alternate form as a smaller, cuter blue dragon. 

By the time he had turned the last page, Rex stopped and stared into space. Good Lord, he had really read the whole doujinshi.

A more significant thought dawned on him. This was why Weevil forbade him from so much as touching his backpack. The doujin, his prized possession, usually stayed in there. If, indeed, it was the only one—there could be others just like that stashed within the recesses of his bookbag. How many other yaoi comics did Weevil carry around in there? For that matter, where did he get them in the first place? _Did he go to some convention where they sell stuff like this? Eh, it doesn’t matter. Better put it back where it was._

He froze. Was it too late to return the comic to its nightstand? Gingerly, he opened the bathroom door to find…

Everything was exactly as he had left it.

Rex turned off the bathroom light, stepped quietly to the nightstand, and put the doujin back where it was, under the scarab-joined spectacles.

Without another look back, Rex left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

***  


For years afterward, Rex swore that some vindictive phantasm ensorcelled him when he read that doujin. Opening the first page of that comic sealed his fate. Ever since the crushingly disappointing end of the Duelist Kingdom tournament, Rex had tried to think mostly of claiming new victories for himself and getting his own back on Mai. No matter what he did, however, Rex crossed paths with Weevil again and again, and once that boy entered Rex’s consciousness, there was no extricating him. Difficult—almost impossible—to get rid of, as befit his name, Weevil exerted a persistent presence in Rex’s life, but Rex strangely discovered that he preferred it that way. When you were as lonesome as Rex, even one friend was a godsend, especially when fate had decreed that few people were as lonesome as your friend.

Geographically, it made little to no sense. They didn't exactly live in the same neighborhood. Somehow, though, they always found each other. Rex could think of no other explanation but the callous whimsies of fate itself. As loath as he was to admit it, putting up with those whimsies was worth his while. Whatever kept Weevil coming back to him, Rex never knew, but he cherished it despite himself. And something made him come back for Weevil’s company every time. 

That something, he liked to tell himself, was his absence of other friends. The social life he once imagined he would grow into never materialized. With no prospects outside of the crummy apartment he shared with his mother and the town comprising it, Rex gravitated exactly to where his detractors told him he would: the local burger joint. For the next several months, he spent his working life manning the cash register, mopping floors, and dunking sliced potato wedges in grease.

Degrading though it was, the work at Fast Times had its upside. Rex enjoyed keeping a tally of the more unusual customers he saw, taking home discounted burgers, fries, chicken sandwiches, and milkshakes, and swiping the occasional mustard, ketchup, ranch dressing, and tartar sauce packets from under his often negligent boss’s eye. Most of all, he liked talking to his favorite coworker, a tall dark-haired girl named Kiki—when she was around, of course, which was all too rare. When he asked her about her absences, she just smiled and replied, “I’m sort of a hiring manager elsewhere, in my own way. You’ll see one day.” Then she would return to grilling hamburger patties.

She unfortunately represented an additional problem of an under-active social life: chastity. Kiki was cute, but she was unapproachable sexually, and while Rex harbored no contempt for her because of that, she reminded him of his ongoing dry spell. Recently, Rex had taken a page out of Weevil’s book and started pursuing his jollies through smutty fan comics. Although he liked doujinshi featuring RPG characters, he took a keener interest in the erotic adventures of Duel Monsters. Dark Magician Girl was not his thing, which limited his options somewhat, but with diligence, he had found comics about the Harpie Lady tying up some helpless man-shaped creature and a horde of small, weak male insect monsters fertilizing the Insect Queen on demand. Dinosaur monsters in sexual situations remained frustratingly rare, but the abundance of dragon erotica compensated for their lack. Rex might have wondered what his interest in these particular scenarios said about him, but he expended greater concern on something else.

That something was the direction in which his attractions had turned. In his adolescence, he had hoped, nearly prayed, that all the people who drew his sexual gaze would look like Mai Valentine: leggy, busty, long-haired, or, at the absolute bare minimum, female. This was not to be, for Rex noticed men as often as he noticed women. A barrel-chested stud who ordered an egg and bacon sandwich in the morning drew his eye as readily as a voluptuous woman who ordered a salad in the evening. 

Neither the bodybuilder nor the sweater model, however, elicited as intense a reaction from him as the man who entered Fast Times during Rex’s third late-night shift. 

Rex stood behind the counter at the eleventh hour of the night, waiting for the junkies in need of a sugar fix to arrive for their cup of soft-serve ice cream with rainbow sprinkles, when he heard an unforgettable high-pitched, raspy voice.

“Yes, I’d like a— _Rex_?”

The familiar sound jolted Rex out of the trance that threatened to claim him. “Weevil? What are you doing here?” Fate was up to its old tricks again, he knew. This meeting was only a matter of time...but he dared not say so.

“Guess whose family just moved to your town?” He grinned, as though it were his own idea and an ingenious one at that.

“Really? That’s awesome! I’d be happy for you, except this place is kind of a dump. The whole city, I mean, not just the restaurant, although it is a dump.”

His friend shrugged. “I was gonna work in a supermarket here _or_ in the old home town. It evens out. And rents are cheaper here, so that _is_ something!”

“Looks like we’ll be spending more time together, anyway.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Hey, wait a second…are the security cameras turned off?” He squinted. “They are! Who turned them off? Hang on, that gives me an idea. Weren’t you going to order something?”

“No, genius, I came in here to bring you your mail. Of course I was going to order something! Just let me get out my wallet.” 

As Weevil pulled his wallet from the pocket of his trousers, Rex held up his hand to stop him. “Save your money.”

“Are you serious?”

“As the Cretaceous extinction event.”

Weevil beamed like one receiving his due.

Shortly thereafter, both duelists sat at one of the restaurant’s tables, Rex with his double-decker cheeseburger and chili fries and Weevil with a fish sandwich and two orders of fries sprinkled with sea salt and pepper. Each had his own milkshake: chocolate and strawberry swirl in the former case and cookies and cream in the latter. As the de facto host, Rex dug into his tray of cow flesh wrapped in lettuce, cheese, and bread, and then he sat back to listen to his friend talk.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe the time I had looking for a job. None of the call centers would hire me. I couldn’t figure out why. You’d think I’d at least be a good tech support guy, but apparently not.” With a tang of spite in his last words, Weevil took a bite of his sandwich.

What could Rex do but chuckle to himself? “Um, maybe they’re outsourcing.”

“Right, I can’t stand any more of this,” said Kiki suddenly. She stepped out from the kitchen and sidled up to the men’s table.

“Any more of what? Me talking to my best friend?” asked Rex. Cute or not, Kiki had no right to pass judgment on his occasional moments of social interaction.

“No. What I can’t stand is hearing you talk about your humdrum lives.” She looked at Rex specifically. “I think it’s time to show you what I mean when I say I’m a hiring manager in my own way. Come out into the alley with me.”

“Do you only mean him, or can I come, too?” asked Weevil.

“Of course you’re invited. You’re with Rex. And don’t worry: I turned off the security cameras both inside and outside.”

Although he did not know it at the time, this night would ensure that Rex was never the same again, and for two reasons. The first, which did not occur to him until less than an hour after he exited the burger joint, was that his career would take an extreme though not entirely unexpected turn. The second, which he realized as soon as he started walking out, made his stomach drop. It was the crystallization of something that he had kept hidden from himself until now. Previously, he wondered whether his reluctance to approach men in a sexual capacity was a strength or a weakness—or possibly a survival technique. Girls would simply laugh at you to signify rejection, but guys…he tensed up to think of it. But now a new revelation made him shudder. He wanted to believe it was a matter of simple frustration, of staying a virgin all his life. Whatever it was, he could no longer ignore it, regardless of how much he wished he could.

Weevil was starting to look good to him.

But he should not dwell on that now. He had a new life ahead of him, and his attraction to his long-time rival had nothing to do with it. Didn’t it?


	2. Chapter One: The Boys Claw Their Way up the Ladder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains some references to—but not descriptions of—nerd-on-monster sex. Also, the writer of this story does not condone counterfeiting or burglary.

_And I know that I’m gonna be like this forever, never gonna be what I should._  
_And you think that I’ll be bad for just a little while, but I know that I’ll be bad for good._  
—Jim Steinman, “Bad for Good” 

To most observers, the Scarlet Citadel was nothing more than an independently owned store that sold merchandise for gamers and science fiction fans. Anyone who stepped inside would see shelves bursting with video game disks and cartridges, Blue Eyes White Dragon and Dark Magician dolls, DVDs and VCDs of space opera and fantasy films and series both famous and obscure, and graphic novels in Japanese and English. Posters of fan-favorite movies and fantasy scenes covered the walls: half-dressed muscle-bound barbarians piercing the darkness with gleaming swords and similarly half-dressed women clinging to their men, green-scaled dragons curling up on piles of gold and jewels and breathing smoke at anyone who dared venture near, women in diaphanous gowns caressing giant snakes. The glass case that served as the front counter held shiny Duel Monsters cards in transparent sleeves, with wrappers containing more cards hanging up behind the counter.

What few observers realized was that at least half of the goods sold in the Scarlet Citadel were bootlegs. The Scarlet Citadel was the property of Madame Christabel Cutcliffe, leader of the city’s most enigmatic crime syndicate. Her organization spread its tentacles into many ventures throughout the city, but her most superficially legitimate enterprise was the shop that catered to nerds.

Kiki had introduced Rex and Weevil to Madame Cutcliffe, who turned out to be a forty-something woman who boosted her shorter-than-average stature with black platform shoes, on the night the dark-haired girl led them out of Fast Times, and the two young men began working in her store three days later. Cutcliffe told them to keep their cover jobs but ask for reduced hours, which they did. Eventually, Fast Times had Rex and the supermarket had Weevil down to ten hours a week, which suited them both fine. It wasn’t as though the work in the Citadel was any more degrading than flipping burgers or bagging groceries, and this way they met more marginally like-minded people. Rex could not help but notice what a relief it was to talk casually to other Duel Monsters fanatics on a daily basis, rather than the bland array of morning commuters and mothers of crying children who frequented Fast Times.

Their initial run as members of the Cutcliffe Cabal was, to Rex and Weevil’s own surprise, both emotionally satisfying and financially successful. For the first several weeks, their only jobs consisted of selling goods, particularly of the bootleg variety. While one of them stood behind the counter or stocked products inside the Scarlet Citadel, the other hung out on nearby street corners with a jacket and briefcase full of bootleg VCDs, posters, calendars, wall scrolls, and—their personal favorite—Duel Monsters cards. Tourists were the easiest targets to fool. Most visitors to the area never bothered to look closely enough at their purchases to see whether or not they were buying the genuine article. Missing licensing stickers, absent copyright information, warped or incorrect colors…nothing would deter some buyers. According to Kiki, Madame Cutcliffe often said that she owed her success almost entirely to other people’s stupidity and carelessness.

Looking at the cards that emerged from Cutcliffe’s warehouse’s printing press always gave Rex and Weevil chuckles: Red Eyes Black Dragons with pinkeye, chartreuse-scaled Blue Eyes White Dragons, Dark Magician Girls wearing two-piece outfits, Black Tyrannos with weird, turkey-like appearances, and, always, always, incorrect titles and descriptive text. One card, for instance, depicted Kuriboh but had the text and stats that belonged to Revival Jam and the title FIGHTING FLUFF. People fell for the counterfeits and outright fakes anyway, and the young men always went home with a decent and often more than decent amount of earnings from the pirate goods they passed off. Rex could not count the number of times someone believed him when he said, “There’s totally more than one Obelisk the Tormentor, honest,” but each time pleased him as much as the last.

One evening, as they were closing up the Scarlet Citadel, Kiki emerged from the building’s attic and slammed a burlap sack on the counter, making them both jump a little.

“Boys, you’ve been promoted!”

Rex straightened his hat. “Really? To what?”

A twinkle lit up Kiki’s eyes. “Come into the back room with me. I can’t open this here, where someone might look inside and see it.”

Weevil walked over from the shelf of lavender-skinned Blue Eyes White Dragon dolls he had just finished stocking. “Ooh, sounds scandalous!”

“It’s not that scandalous. Don’t get too excited. Just come back here with me.”

Based on the faint but distinct odor that seeped through the bag, Rex had a feeling that he knew exactly what Kiki intended to have them do, but he kept his mouth shut. They all passed through the swinging red doors next to the counter and entered the back room, a warehouse-like setup with a bare floor, stacks of wooden crates, and walls that appeared to be made of bamboo. More posters—authentic ones—covered these walls, depicting giant centipedes wrestling with equally gargantuan apes and massive horned reptiles goring primitive humans. In the middle of the room sat a black card table and three chairs, plus an additional chair in the corner.

“All right, boys. Prepare yourselves,” said Kiki as she set the burlap bag on the table.

Exactly as Rex expected, she opened the sack to reveal a mass of foul-smelling green herbs.

Weevil wrinkled his nose. “Those smell awful.”

“That’s as may be, but the next phase of your career depends on them. You’re going to be running the demon weed.”

“The Demon Weed?” Weevil raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a mid-level monster card?”

“No, you dork,” said Rex. “She means the sweet leaf! Hash! Pot!”

Kiki placed a hand on her hip. “Don’t tell me you’re unfamiliar with marijuana.”

“Of course I know what it is. I was just hoping it would be…different. Hey, is it my fault that I never get invited to the cool parties?”

Rex caught himself about to answer in the affirmative until he remembered that he had never been invited to a cool party either. However, that did not prevent him from partaking of the very herb that Kiki was showing them. He hated to admit it, but one of Weevil’s offhand accusations back before Duelist Kingdom turned out to be true. After losing at Duelist Kingdom, Rex had found the closest, cheapest weed-dealer in his neighborhood and proceeded to burn his sorrows in the rank but comforting smoke of cannabis indica. Since then, he frequently turned to marijuana to numb his lingering pains. Occasionally he wondered if he would not have done better to spend his money on another Red Eyes Black Dragon, but marijuana did more for him and was significantly easier to find, so it won out every time.

“Well, be that as it may,” said Kiki, “both of you are going to be dealing this stuff. One of you can peddle it on the street, and the other can slip it in with the Citadel’s merchandise.”

“But how will people know about—” Rex began.

“Why, word of mouth! Whichever of you makes the first sale on the street will tell the customer where more of the stuff can be found. They’ll come in droves when they hear where it came from, I can assure you.”

After a short conversation, Rex decided that he would take it upon himself to hit the streets with cannabis buds stuffed in his jacket while Weevil handed shoppers DVDs that shared their cases with individually wrapped grams of weed. This arrangement continued for another month and a half, and every night, the two young men would swap stories about their customer interactions. In every respect, this development improved upon their earlier position, though Weevil often grumbled that he had barely moved up at all, since he still had to stand behind a counter and fool nerds who would buy anything that resembled a monster they thought was cool. Rex, meanwhile, liked to gloat about his comparatively more exciting encounters.

“Guess who I met on the street last night?” Rex asked Weevil when they met for lunch at a corner diner.

“It wasn’t a cop, was it?” Weevil clutched at the half-full glass of soda beside his plate of grilled cheese and fries.

"No!” Rex laughed. “It was this really ripped guy who looked like he’d just come from a beach somewhere. He had tattoos of, like, gorillas and stuff, and he said he needed some weed to come up with an idea for his next song. He plays in a rock band! Ain’t that cool?” He bit into his chicken sandwich.

“Damn it, I never meet anyone like that at the Citadel. No one I ever talk to has even touched an electric guitar, probably.”

“You oughta like that, though, ‘cause you’re such a nerd!” Another crunchy bite of his sandwich punctuated his statement. He reflected that he might have done well to swallow his current mouthful of chicken, bread, and mayonnaise before adding to it, but that hardly mattered now.

“At least I’m not a stoner nerd,” Weevil hissed. He picked up a French fry and popped it into his mouth. “I know you smoke the stuff; you can’t hide it from me! How do you ever expect to be a better duelist if you smoke all the time?”

As soon as he swallowed his food, Rex retorted, “Maybe you _should_ be a stoner. You’d be less of an asshole that way.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that worked out so well for you.”

 _So, he wants to ramp things up, does he? No problem._

“You’re right. You shouldn’t do weed after all. That stuff can make you real horny, so no bug would be safe around you!”

“What?” Reflexively, Weevil squeezed the bottle of ketchup he was holding onto his plate, covering the surface area of most of his fries and the remainder of his sandwich. When he saw the mess he had made of his lunch, he growled and slammed the bottle down on the table.

“You heard me,” Rex said with a snort. “Only a pervert would be so glad to have a card like the Insect Queen. That thing was made for people who buy spiders to slip down their pants!”

“Oh, so liking bugs is perverted, is it? What about your thing for giant reptiles? That can’t be wholesome!”

Rex crossed his arms. “Whaddaya mean? Little kids like dinosaurs, too. And dragons.”

“Yeah, but you’re a lot like Kaiba with his Blue Eyes fetish. He’d marry that thing if he could. Do you think your Red Eyes Black Dragon ever gets lonely without you, hmm? Does it make you jealous to think of it in Joey Wheeler’s deck? Is cuddling up to Black Tyranno as good as it is with Red Eyes, Rex?”

Instead of replying immediately, Rex tore into his chicken sandwich. Crumbs sprayed onto the table and booth, but he paid no heed.

Weevil leaned forward, a smirk on his face. “ _Velociraptor_ got your tongue, huh? I thought that might be a sore point!”

Rex swallowed hard. “No, I was just thinking of how you must have felt when Wheeler took your Insect Queen. Both of our cards’ve been two-timing us with the same guy! Doesn’t that make you feel dirty?”

“Why, you—”

“Excuse me?” a soft soprano voice interjected.

Both men turned to look beside their table. A young woman in a blue-and-white-checked uniform stood at the table’s edge, holding a pitcher of cola.

“I’ve been standing here for the past two minutes, and I was going to ask if you wanted a refill on your sodas.” She pointed at Weevil’s half-empty glass and Rex’s nearly empty one.

“Oh…um, sure,” said Rex.

Without speaking, she filled their glasses to the brim and then left.

The discussion paused.

“Uh, I think we’d better pay the check soon,” Weevil said.

“Yep.” Rex stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth.

Nothing changed outwardly after that conversation, but Rex noticed that he was thinking about Weevil in a sexual context more often than before. Of course, he had only been joking when he said that Weevil wanted to bone the Insect Queen, but whenever Rex thought about that scenario, he wanted to keep thinking about it. Then he took another smoke to forget about it. Still, that solution only worked in the short term. Perhaps it was time to concentrate more on his dealing career.

“Can we start dealing crack?” Rex asked Kiki in the Scarlet Citadel’s back room. After his eventful night at a fraternity house, he anticipated future anecdotes in the making.

Kiki shook her head. “No way, José. We don’t have anything to do with crack, snuff, angel dust, opium, meth, or heroin. Pot’s the only substance we run. Killing paying customers is a poor business model.”

Selling pot proved to bring even more cash than pirate goods. Collegians, the Citadel's largest pot-purchasing demographic, rarely had enough disposable income to pay for huge quantities of marijuana, but one does not need much cannabis for its intended effects to take hold, and the prices Rex and Weevil charged were reasonable. At least their customers rarely balked at paying for high-grade weed.

After several more months of peddling the green, they received the promotion they were looking for. A bright-eyed, chirpy-voiced Kiki called them into the Scarlet Citadel’s back room one day.

“Quit your cover jobs, boys. You won’t have time for them with what you’re moving up to.”

“What are we gonna do now?” asked Rex. “Oh, Gawd, you’re not making us into rent boys, are you?”

Kiki giggled. “No, silly! We don’t sell anyone’s body in the Cutcliffe Cabal. You’ll be doing real heists.”

Suddenly, Weevil clutched and squeezed Rex’s lower arm.

“You mean we’ll be stealing? Real, honest-to-goodness stealing?”

“That is exactly what I mean.”

“Ooh, yes!” He pulled Rex toward him. “We’ve moved up, Rex!”

“Yeah, I’ll say we have. Now let go of my arm.” Stealing was risky, but they both had enough experience in that department to pull it off well.

The other young man released his grip on Rex’s arm. “When do we start?”

“This time next week. You’ll be carrying out a heist on Cunambria’s.”

Rex gasped. “Cunambria’s? The jewelry store? But someone’s bound to notice us there!”

“I’ll be going with you to make sure they don’t.”

“Hey, we don’t need a babysitter!” Weevil protested.

“Indeed you don’t,” said Kiki. “I won’t be your babysitter. Think of me as more of a lookout.”

“What makes you think no one will notice you?” Rex was unsure that this girl had a sense of her own limitations.

She giggled. “They won’t. I know they won’t.”

What choice had they but to take her at her word? Kiki outranked them, and if she needed to accompany them on their first heist for them to move up in the Cabal, then so be it.

Seven midnights later, when they crept up to the back entrance of Cunambria’s, Kiki assured the men that she would stand guard outside while they cased the joint.

Breaking into the store proved easy enough—a simple matter of knowing how to pick a lock—but Rex felt a mixture of relief and disturbance when he saw that the outdoor security cameras were turned off. He waved Weevil on, and they proceeded to sneak inside.

The door closed behind them. In the darkness, details were hard to discern, but Rex could see everything well enough when he pulled his infrared goggles over his eyes.

“Lucky you, being able to wear those,” said Weevil.

“Yep, I’m lucky, all right,” Rex replied in a harsh whisper. “Let’s see, what should we take?”

“Who cares? Let’s just make this quick. I can still see well enough to notice a great big jewel in the dark.”

As if to demonstrate his point, Weevil smashed a glass display case with a rock that he had kept secreted in his pocket. With his other hand, he grabbed a fistful of diamond rings and stuffed them in his other pocket, cackling all the while. He tossed the rock over to Rex, who used it to break open a floor-to-ceiling glass cabinet. Rex filled both of his pockets with rubies and tucked several diamond necklaces under his hat.

Feeling like the world’s most overgrown juvenile delinquent, Rex called to Weevil, “I think I got as much as I can carry. What about you?”

“I’ve got so many rings, I could be Sonic the Hedgehog.”

“Then we gotta go fast!”

They emerged from Cunambria’s and into the back alley, where Kiki still stood waiting.

“I hope you two enjoyed yourselves.”

“We sure did,” said Weevil. “But how in the hell can you tell us that no one will notice that? We left broken glass everywhere.”

Kiki cocked her head to one side. “Trust me. Tomorrow morning, it will be as if none of this ever happened. Oh, we’ll still have the jewels…but no one else will know.”

Much like the weed-running, robbery proved to be a lucrative enterprise for Rex and Weevil. Every week, the two of them would get together with Kiki to burgle some store or other, and the next day’s local news would have nothing to say about any breaking and entering that they might have committed. Other instances of the exact same crime did receive coverage, but not those executed by anyone in the Cutcliffe Cabal. The situation was too perfect. At first, Kiki insisted that she travel with Rex and Weevil to every heist, but after a while, she told them that she could be with them “in spirit.” And still, no paper or television news story reported on the Cabal’s crimes.

“There’s something weird about this organization,” said Rex to Weevil one evening, after all the Scarlet Citadel’s customers had left.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Weevil thumbed through the wad of cash left in the register.

“No, it’s good. It’s just…don’t you think it’s kinda odd how nobody notices when we rob a store, or how nobody thinks there’s anything wrong with all this counterfeit stuff, or how nobody calls the cops when we sell weed? Something fishy’s going on.”

“Yeah, I know! It’s great!”

Rather than reply, Rex watched as Kiki sauntered up to the counter. Her smile was bigger than any she had ever worn before.

“Boys, I have to tell you: you’ve been doing such a great job with everything lately, you’ll get an assignment that no one else in the whole Cabal has ever received.”

“What?” the two men asked in unison.

“Meet me in the back room tomorrow night, and I’ll take you to see Madame Cutcliffe…but not before I show you something _really_ exciting.”

“You’ve got doujin we’ve never seen?” asked Rex.

“Would you knock it off? No, I have something infinitely better than that. You won’t be ready for it, no matter what I say. Just come to the back room tomorrow night and watch what happens.” She winked at them and then left the way she came.

“Weird girl,” said Weevil.

“See what I mean?”

The following night, Rex and Weevil gathered in the Citadel’s back room again. Rex flicked the light on, and while he saw the room’s table, chairs, and stacks of crates as always, he could not detect a sign of Kiki.

“Where is that girl? If she’s the one who arranged this, she should be here first,” said Weevil.

Rex agreed with him but said nothing, not wishing to be redundant.

“Oh, but I am here.”

A glowing blue light surrounded Kiki as she floated down from the ceiling and touched the floor. With a bright-eyed smile, she faced the young men, both of whom gaped at her without blinking.

“How the hell did you do that?” asked Rex.

“I demand an explanation for this parlor trick!” said Weevil.

Flipping her hair, she replied, “It’s no trick. It took years of practice. Since I was a little kid, actually. But I’ve had help. And tonight, you’re going to give and receive more help than you ever have before. Follow me.”

***

Rex and Weevil sat across from Madame Cutcliffe, who perched on a stool behind a black table. A curling, yellowed sheet of parchment and a black briefcase lay atop her desk. She wore a suit that matched her table, briefcase, and platform shoes.

“Hello, Messieurs Raptor and Underwood. I understand that you are here to receive your latest assignment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Rex.

“First, I have to have your word of honor that you will not reveal anything about this mission to anyone else. This matter is strictly Cutcliffe Cabal business. If you tell anybody outside the Cabal and I learn about it—and if you do, I _will_ learn about it—I’ll make you wish you had never been born.”

Rex tried not to gulp. “I swear not to tell a soul, ma’am.”

“I wouldn’t dream of breathing a word about this, boss,” said Weevil.

“Good. You’ve gotten away with some impressive heists before. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here. This is another heist, but it’s for something you’ve never seen. Now, I’ll show you what it is.”

Madame Cutcliffe unfurled the sheet of parchment, revealing the image of a coiling legless, armless dragon. Gold scales, flecked with jade and sapphire throughout, covered its body. The red-eyed monster, which sported a frill around its neck, opened its mouth in a roar—or possibly a hiss. A pair of spotted wings sprouted from its back. Unlike most draconic creatures, this reptile had a segmented body and bulging flesh.

“What you see here, gentlemen, is an image of the Wyrm of the Wastelands. This artifact is one of the most valuable and sought-after in all the world. People have died for it.”

“Excuse me.” Rex sat up in his seat, trying to contain his excitement at the pulchritudinous sight of a reptilian monster bedecked in dazzling array. “ _Died_? Really? That’s hardcore.”

“Oh, yes,” said Weevil, whom Rex could tell had his own interests in the monster’s larval appearance and moth-like wings. “Why is this piece of jewelry so special?”

Their superior cleared her throat.

“The Wyrm of the Wastelands is no mere addition to a society matron’s jewelry box. Everyone has psychic abilities, though few people realize it, and fewer still take the time to understand and strengthen them. Developing one’s psychic powers takes dedicated study, but there are many who would rather become espers and psychokinetics the easy way.”

Rex declined to comment as he processed the words his boss just spoke, but he did notice that Weevil smirked as he said, “The easy ways are the best.”

Madame Cutcliffe returned her subordinate’s expression. “Indeed they are. That is where the Wyrm comes in. It senses, uncovers, and amplifies two hidden parts of a person’s soul: one is the psychic abilities that lie dormant within you, and the other is the inner devil.”

“Ahem,” said Rex. “The psychic powers are cool and all, but what’s this about an inner devil?”

“In addition to psychic powers, everyone has a devil inside them, a force that we must learn to use wisely to gain in this world. I draw strength from my inner devil, as do my employees…and my rivals. Without it, I would be a victim of the sort of organization I run, or of organizations with more legitimacy but just as few scruples. But instead, I am the proud leader of the Cutcliffe Cabal, because I both honor and direct my inner devil. However, I have not learned to develop and harness my psychic abilities, although I know those who have. So that’s why I need the Wyrm. If I had the Wyrm in my possession, I would crush the competition. No other racket boss could compete with me! For that reason, I charge you with the task of retrieving the Wyrm from the clutches of one of my chief rivals, the Pink Pangolin.”

“Um…come again?” asked Rex. “The Pink Pangolin? Really? That’s someone’s actual, like, crime name?”

His boss nodded. “She calls herself by that name because of her unparalleled fondness for the color pink and products made from pangolin.”

“That’s gross!” the young men replied at once.

“Let us not discuss her habits, gentlemen.” The vice queen stretched her arms as she steepled her fingers. “However disgusting you may find them, they are not directly relevant to your mission. But this is.”

She undid the locks on the briefcase, which sprang open to show stacks and stacks of paper money, so many that they overlapped with one another. Glimpses of golden coins peeked out from between the neatly wrapped green bills. Rex thought he detected a pearl under one stack and a ruby beneath another.

“Whoaaaa.” The boys leaned forward to gaze at the sight of more wealth than they had ever seen.

Still staring at the money in the briefcase, Rex let himself ask, “That’s a neat speech, ma’am, but what do those things—the ESP, the inner devil, and the Wyrm—have to do with each other? I mean, I get that the Wyrm’s supposed to strengthen those two things, but why both at the same time?”

“Mister Raptor, they have everything to do with each other. They are like pieces of a puzzle. The self-sacrificing, the good-intentioned, those who want nothing but the best for the world…they cannot receive the Wyrm’s gifts. But the grasping, the malicious, the ones who would do anything for their own success…to them the Wyrm gives power.

“Let me give you an example. Say a bleeding heart sees a starving homeless person on the street and wants to buy him a house. He tries to partake of the Wyrm’s abilities and buys a lottery ticket, hoping to win enough money to buy a little house for the pathetic stranger. He wins nothing and loses money on the ticket, because he tried to use the Wyrm for a good deed.” She said the words “good deed” as though trying to spit out something slimy.

“Now think of a different person. He wants nothing more than to be the world’s richest man so he can own two big houses, three or four expensive cars, and six or seven television sets with video game consoles. He prays to the Wyrm to win a lottery ticket, even if it is only for fifty thousand dollars. He wins that money and buys himself all the gifts he can.

“Now take a third man. His heart’s desire is to crush his enemy and get at his wife. He rubs his hands on the Wyrm and demands power to do just that. The Wyrm sends him images of where his enemy will be, and, knowing that his enemy will be unaware and vulnerable, the man arranges to kill him where no one can see. Then, if he makes extra obeisance to the Wyrm, he can use the power of influence to persuade his dead enemy’s wife to love him instead. The more selfish your motives are, the more the Wyrm will work for you.”

Weevil must have picked his jaw up from off the floor then, because he asked, “I love the sound of all that…but where does this Pink Pangolin live? We’ve gotta get that Wyrm!”

“Her private residence and her gambling establishment, which you will be infiltrating, are in Hollywood.”

She gave them further details on their mission, as well as plenty of money to get them started. Rex saw that Weevil wrote furiously on a notepad as Madame Cutcliffe spoke.

“Goodbye for now, gentlemen. I hope to see you in two weeks’ time,” she said as they made ready to depart.

“You will, ma’am,” said Rex, waving goodbye. Then he shut the door.

The young men could barely contain their glee as they left the Citadel that night, walking to their destination at the bus stop.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Rex? Anyone who gets this artifact gets _awesome_ psychic powers!”

“Yeah! And if we had it, _we’d never lose at Duel Monsters again_!”

“Oh, it’s not only that. You know what I mean, don’t you, dino-dingus? Just imagine if we had Kiki’s kind of power. We’d be invincible! We’d win every tournament, every game of chance, every bet we ever took…and we could take anything we could ever want. Nothing would stand in our way! We’d be richer than we ever dreamed!”

“But Kiki is way more psychic than that, and she still works for Cutcliffe.”

Weevil scoffed. “That girl doesn’t have the sense to quit. We know better.”

When the bus pulled up a few minutes later, Rex wondered if that was true. More importantly, though, he was wondering what he and Weevil would do first once they got to LA.

They paid their fare and took their seats beside each other. As the bus got moving, they said nothing at first.

“Lots of babes in Hollywood,” said Rex.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Rex enticed himself by running down possible interpretations of that response until he reached his stop.


	3. Chapter Two: The Boys Take Los Angeles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains the fairly bloody death of a fictional monster. Also, Yig is from H. P. Lovecraft's "The Curse of Yig" (ghostwritten for Zealia Bishop), and Rlim Shaikorth is from Clark Ashton Smith's "The Coming of the White Worm."
> 
> With apologies to residents of Venice, Hollywood.

_You're breaking out of your chains, and you're breaking in a new pair of boots._  
—Jim Steinman, "Stark Raving Love" 

Ocean Front Walk was nowhere on Rex and Weevil’s officially scheduled itinerary, but they could no more avoid visiting the place than a cat could resist pawing at a shiny goldfish. The location sang to every thrill-seeking, spectacle-loving, sleaze-chasing cell in their bodies. Since this most promising of boardwalks was a short distance from the hotel Cutcliffe told them to check in to, they opted to spend their first evening there. The belated discovery that their room had no television set further prompted Rex and Weevil to seek diversion in the wild. Browsing the travel brochures in the hotel lobby yielded the information that though there were other unforgettable nearby sights to take in, Venice Boardwalk was the attraction closest to their temporary habitation, and so they went. 

They walked along the path, breathing in the salt air and a melange of delicious smells. Scents from hot dog vendors, popcorn stands, and fish and chicken sandwich carts wafted through the breeze. Even better than the smells were the sights. To the left, palm trees lined the grass and sand that lay beside the rolling Pacific. To the right, rows of colorful delights dotted the lane: parlors offering tattoos, piercings, and massages (sometimes all three in the same storefront), tie-dyed T-shirts hanging up on racks, dozens of street performers trying different feats to catch the attention of passerby. There was a man walking on broken glass, a woman twisting her body into knots like a pretzel, another man juggling chainsaws. A turban-wearing man wielding an electric guitar roller skated through the crowd. Everywhere, merchants sat behind tables: watch and jewelry salespersons, people who read palms, tarot cards, and horoscopes, and things Rex could only begin to guess. Some vendors displayed open wallets of DVDs on their tables, and Rex chuckled under his breath at the people who flipped through the selection of discs. These sellers were in the same game as he and Weevil, and it didn’t take a genius to recognize that. 

“You know what would make this place even better?” Rex asked him. “If they had Duel Monsters cards for sale. Ones that weren’t bootlegs, I mean. Hell, even if they were all bootlegs, that could be funny to see.”

“What, you have to look at bootleg cards to see something funny here? Look around you, Rex!”

Well, Weevil certainly wasn’t wrong. Ocean Front Walk was nothing if not a smorgasbord of the outlandish and amusing. If Rex was being honest with himself, he supposed that he and Weevil did not present the most normative of all possible appearances in their usual haunts. Here, however, they looked like ordinary tourists. In fact, they had taken pains to blend in with the out-of-state summer-vacation crowd: both men wore knee-length khaki pants and tacky Hawaiian shirts. Neither of them liked wearing these outfits, but blending in was vital to their mission. Not that there was any way to blend in on Ocean Front Walk—everyone stood out from everyone else.

For example, a lithe, tanned blonde in cutoff jean shorts and a midriff-baring pink T-shirt swayed to a pounding rhythm, a pale green and white serpent wrapped around her body. The band that surrounded her comprised three men in sarongs—one red and orange, the second green and blue, and the third purple and pink—two of whom beat a pair of bongos while the third shook a jangling, beat-up tambourine.

Yes, Hollywood laid claim to many babes, and this woman was one of them. She was surrounded by men, true, but the association looked purely professional…and all the men looked as though they were more interested in their own sex, by Rex’s estimation. Speaking of which, this seaside metropolis boasted just as many attractive guys as pretty women. Long-haired surfers with sun-kissed skin strode this boardwalk, though more such men, Rex knew, were out practicing their moves on the beach. Still, there was probably no better place in all of Los Angeles than Ocean Front Walk for anyone who simply enjoyed looking at people, whether that voyeurism was motivated for libidinous or other reasons.

“Hey, Weeves, wanna get a bite to eat and keep on people-watching?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Rex.”

A few minutes later, when they had made their respective dinner purchases, they both stood at the edge of the boardwalk and gazed at the people passing by. The parade of freaks never seemed to end. People with hair that resembled cotton candy of every visible color, tattoos of images like purple walruses and unicorns balancing bowling balls on their horns, and shoulder pets ranging from small dogs to serpents and creatures more exotic. Like the dancing blonde, some people sported snakes around their necks, but there were lizards, scarlet macaws, and even, in one case, someone with a mantis shrimp hanging around their neck in a vial of water.

More physically exciting persons appeared as well. The expected assortment of statuesque women in bikini tops and blue jeans milled about on the sand, grass, and boards…and so did many a bare-chested man with rippling muscles.

Before he realized what he said, the words “Check him out, Weevil” emerged from Rex’s mouth, along with a few chunks of chili dog.

“Check _who_ out, Rex? Did you just say what I think you said?”

“Um….” Then Rex grinned. He had no need to point out the six-foot, shorts-clad, sandal-shod dark bodybuilder lifting weights nearby; Weevil was already staring at him intently, sucking on the straw of a soda.

“Never mind.” He turned to make sure that Weevil could see his sneering expression.

At first, the bug nerd reserved his reaction. Finally, he let himself speak.

“I’m gonna go buy breakfast for tomorrow. Hotel breakfast bars are garbage.”

“I dunno, the one at our hotel seems all—” 

“ _Garbage_. Besides, we’ve got a busy night ahead of us. I’ll pick up our breakfast, and then we’ll finish up our fun here, go back to the hotel, and get ready for…business.” He winked at Rex and then sidled off around the corner.

_Like hell he has something against hotel breakfast bars. He just doesn’t want to admit that he’s a homo. But did he catch that I…no, don’t think about it. Just amuse yourself until he gets back._

As he turned the corner in the opposite direction from Weevil, Rex caught the sight of yet another person seated behind a table. Ordinarily, he would have paid this occurrence no mind, save for two factors: one, the table was covered with Duel Monsters cards. Two, the card-seller said to him, “Excuse me, young man. I have something of the greatest importance to share with you.”

Behind the table sat a woman dressed in a white robe that covered most of her face. Her light brown hands waved over the cards displayed on the table’s surface, as if beckoning customers. Or did she only mean to beckon to him?

 _I’ll humor her_ , Rex thought as he approached the table. 

“Hey, I’m looking up to beef up my deck.”

“So I thought. I also know that you are specifically looking for strong dinosaur cards.”

Rex’s mouth dropped open slightly. “How did you know—”

“You are Rex Raptor, dinosaur specialist, are you not?”

He felt himself break out in a sweat, and it was not from the summer night’s heat. “Yeah, lady, that’s me. You remember me? That feels like an honor.”

“I expect that you miss your former glory and would like to regain and even expand upon it.”

“Man, you’re hitting all the marks. But do you actually have any dinosaur cards to sell me? Or dragon cards. They’ll do. Like, if I could get another Red Eyes Black Dragon, that’d be great. I miss that thing.” _It really did two-time me with Wheeler_ , he thought.

“If you desire, I _could_ sell you a Red Eyes Black Dragon…but I have something of greater significance for you.”

Rex put one of his hands on his hip. What could be better than a Red Eyes?

As if anticipating his unspoken question, the saleswoman pulled a sleeve-encased card from the folds of her robe. She handed it to Rex, and he gasped.

Between his fingertips, he held a card that bore an image of a yellow-eyed, slit-pupiled serpent with scales in mottled green and black. Feathers of bright red, yellow, and blue sprouted from its head. The snake’s mouth opened wide, revealing its fangs and forked tongue. Rex read the card name aloud.

“Yig, the Father of Serpents. Good gravy, look at the points on it: thirty-five in attack and two thousand in defense! That’s more than the Blue Eyes White Dragon! Where is this thing from?”

“The Egyptian gods were not the first divine monsters to oppress mankind,” said the card saleswoman. “There were other lands that fell beneath inhuman thrall. Before Egypt rose from the sands, before Atlantis sank, there reigned an array of gargantuan monsters that wielded unspeakable power. They were so fearsome that some people worshiped them as gods. These monsters rewarded their followers with gifts worldly and otherworldly. Today, the monsters have vanished from the face of the planet, but their essences live on…and their loyal servants remain. This is one of the Other God cards, as we call them.”

“That’s awesome! You mean that this Yig monster is like an Egyptian God card?”

“In a manner of speaking, it is. Its stats are lower than Obelisk the Tormentor or Slifer the Sky Dragon, but in its own way, it is as powerful as they are, if not more so.”

Was this lady for real? She could be another faker, like the manufacturers of the cards he sold to unwary tourists and nerds who didn’t know the genuine article when they saw it. But then, he knew enough about the business of forgery to recognize a completely made-up card when he saw one, and based on its construction, this card was no fake. 

Then he realized that Yig had the same attack and defense power as Perfectly Ultimate Great Moth. Oh, wouldn’t his friend be surprised….

“How much is this card?”

“For you, there is no charge.”

“Whoa, are you serious?”

“I am. I am giving you this card for a reason. No one but you may have it.”

“Yes!” Rex pumped his fist in the air. “I don’t know what you’re up to, lady, but I’m loving it. The next time I duel Weevil, he’s gonna wish we’d never come to this boardwalk.” He stuffed the card in the front pocket of his backpack.

Then, as if on cue, Weevil came running up to the card table, and Rex groaned.

“I’m back with the groceries!” he said to Rex. “And I got that six-pack of barbecue sauce you told me you wanted.” His gaze turned to the table of cards. “Ooh, these look rare!”

“Indeed they are,” said the saleswoman. “I gave a scarce and highly powerful card to your friend. If you so desire, and I know you so desire, I will give a similarly rare and powerful card to you.”

Her words made Rex grit his teeth. He had been so looking forward to trouncing Weevil in their next duel! Now this woman was giving Weevil the opportunity to power up his own deck? Would victory ever belong to Rex?

“You are an insect duelist, so I have a special card in mind for you.”

Weevil paused. “How did you know?”

“I remember you, and I know that, like your friend, you wish you had the renown you envisioned for yourself in your younger days. Now, I have a card that can help you attain just that.”

Rubbing his hands together, Weevil replied, “Name your price! I’ll buy it.”

“First I must show it to you.” She reached into one of her sleeves and pulled out another plastic-sheathed card. When Weevil picked it up and read it, he squealed.

“What’s the fuss about?” asked Rex. 

“Look! Rlim Shaikorth, the Great White Worm. It has thirty-five hundred attack points and two thousand defense points. _And_ it requires two tribute monsters but no waiting to summon. It’s better than the Cocoon of Evolution for sure!”

Rex almost raised his arm to smite his forehead but then considered that he would look ungrateful to the saleswoman.

“Regarding your demand that I name my price…Rlim Shaikorth will cost you nothing, Weevil Underwood,” she said.

“A very sensible price indeed.” With a low cackle, he resumed staring at his new card. “I get what I’m worth again!”

“Both of you must be careful. Those cards may destroy you...but they may reward you exactly when you most require it.”

Now she had gone back to babbling. “Whaddaya mean, lady?” asked Rex.

“No one is pure of heart. All human hearts have some corruption inside them, though some have more than others. But a god’s heart is empty. Gods have no human kindness. Only humans do—even you, Rex and Weevil.”

Weevil stamped his foot. “Come off it and cut to the chase! What does your little speech have to do with these cards?”

“These cards cannot be mastered by those who cannot master themselves. I know that you will both take a different path from the one you walk now. It’s up to you to see _when_ you will make that change, and these cards will test you. And, not incidentally, the item you seek is beneath the city.”

This woman was a master of vague enigmas, but something made Rex want to ask her another question. “When we take this different path, as you call it, will we be together?”

A smile appeared beneath the hood. “I could tell you, but it will be better for you to discover that for yourselves.”

“If, by a ‘different path,’ you mean off the boardwalk, then I’m leaving right now. Come along, Rex!” He crooked a finger at his friend.

“Um, sure, lady. Goodbye!” Rex ran up to Weevil and followed him back down Ocean Front Walk.

When they returned to their hotel room, the two young men set about preparing for their heist, but not before they examined each other’s new cards. While Weevil looked over Yig, Rex studied Rlim Shaikorth. The monster on the card was a great white worm, just as its epithet stated. What Rex did not expect to see was its gaping, toothless mouth or its blood-gushing eye sockets. 

“This monster is gross. I like it,” he said, handing it back to his friend.

Weevil returned Yig to Rex. “Yeah, it’s great! Yours is cool, too. Too bad you couldn’t get a real dinosaur.”

“Hey, giant snakes are dragons, kinda. It makes sense.”

“All right!” Weevil clapped his hands together. “Enough Duel Monsters chit-chat. Let’s get down to work.”

First, they changed out of their tourist outfits and girded their loins for the dead of night: everything from their hats to their shoes was black. Next came taking inventory of their tool kits, specifically including the most vital equipment of all: their knives. When Madame Cutcliffe had bestowed these items upon them, both men objected, saying that, although they were many things, they were not murderers. She insisted that such weapons would be necessary for this enterprise, though she added that she hoped they would not absolutely _have_ to kill anyone. Neither Rex nor Weevil had ever received training in the use of bladed weapons, but they both reasoned that they could figure out how to stab someone in a pinch if the situation called for it.

The hour grew late enough that few if any sounds emanated from the hallway. The sounds from outside, however, continued unabated. Reasoning that they could not very well climb out of the window without arousing suspicion, they opted for the less risky option of taking the stairs.

As it was, they passed exactly one person on their way down: an elderly janitor.

“What are you fellows up to?” he asked.

“We’re on our way to a…costume ball,” said Rex. 

“Yeah, we’re…Spy Versus Spy,” Weevil added, “except that we both have to wear black because the stores were out of white.”

The janitor smiled. “Sounds like a swell evening with some ripe political commentary! Have fun, kids.” He waved at them right before he ascended the stairs.

“Don’t worry, we will.” Rex flashed a toothy, narrow-eyed grin at the janitor’s back, so he could only imagine what Weevil’s expression looked like.

* * *

Finding the whereabouts of the Wyrm proved even more difficult than Rex feared. They canvassed the Pink Pangolin’s casino, a gaudy Egyptian-themed establishment called Nefertiti’s Retreat, from front to back, and while they found a Duel Monsters arena to their delight, there was no sign of the Wyrm anywhere on the grounds.

“Didn’t Cutcliffe draw up a map for us?” he asked Weevil when they took a break from their pedestrian search of Nefertiti’s in the darkened dive bar next door. The noise from the funk music downstairs drowned out any chance that a casual eavesdropper would overhear them.

Weevil stared at the map, which he had unfurled upon the table for two they had requested from an overworked-looking host. “Well, we’re in the right neighborhood.”

Rex tossed his arms in the air. “Thanks a lot. You’ve only mentioned that, what, like, twenty times?”

“Give me a break! It’s what we have to go on right now.” He drummed his fingers on the table and picked up a shriveled garlic French fry from the plate he shared with Rex. Alcohol would have impaired their burglary skills, so the men had decided on a mutually inoffensive order of fries covered with garlic and grated Parmesan cheese.

Rex thought back to the events of Ocean Front Walk. “Didn’t that weird woman say something about how what we wanted was beneath the city?”

“Really, Rex? You’re taking her words seriously?”

“Hey, who gave you that white worm card?”

Weevil paused. “When you put it that way, she might have had a point.”

“Yep,” Rex said, nodding. “So, it wouldn’t hurt to look someplace underground.” He popped a fry into his mouth.

“Use your head, Dino-brain. How are we gonna get underground from where we are? The Wyrm has to be somewhere on the casino grounds. If that weirdie was right, then it’s gotta be in the basement. How are we gonna get in there?”

A few minutes of muffled French fry-eating ensued as Rex considered other areas near the casino. Then he snapped his fingers. “I know! We’ll have to pretend to be tourists again—”

“Dressed like this?”

“Yeah, let’s keep up the Spy Versus Spy thing! Now, here’s my idea….”

* * *

The late-night guided tour of Los Angeles’ abandoned subway tunnel was an experience laced with regret, broken promises, and wistful speculation about what could have been…for most tourists. For Rex and Weevil, however, the trip became a golden opportunity as soon as they deliberately separated themselves from the group.

The thieves knelt in front of a wall sealed up with brick and mortar. When several minutes had passed, Rex opted to speak first.

“You sure they’re gone?”

“I think so. Forty-five minutes ago, the guide said the tour would take half an hour.”

Then Weevil opened his toolbox. He pulled out a bundle of sticks and held his open hand out to Rex.

“Hand me your lighter, pothead.”

Obediently, Rex reached into his pocket, produced his lighter, and placed it into Weevil’s palm. The other thief flicked the lighter and touched the open flame to the fuse. As he tossed the dynamite against the sealed entrance, he cried, “Hide, Rex!”

Both men scrambled farther back down the tunnel and crouched on the floor. Shortly thereafter, an explosion that hurt Rex’s ears despite his plugging them with his fingers rang through the air.

When he and Weevil walked through the opening rendered by the dynamite, Rex turned on his flashlight. All he could see ahead was more darkness. The only sound was water dripping from the ceiling.

As they walked on, the gloom continued.

“So…know any good jokes?” Rex asked.

Weevil grabbed Rex by the front of his shirt and pinned him against the wall, almost causing him to drop the flashlight.

“God damn! Let go o’ me! What’re you doing this for?”

“I’m doing this because you had me follow along with your harebrained scheme,” Weevil hissed. “You didn’t think this through beyond ‘some crazy lady said the Wyrm might be underground, so let’s go underground,’ did you?” When Rex remained silent, Weevil continued, “No! I didn’t think so! All we’re doing is walking who the hell knows where in the dark, and it’s because of you!” 

He released his grip on Rex’s shirt, and Rex slumped to the ground. The dinosaur-lover rose to his feet, ready to shake the chitin out of Weevil—until another sound stopped him cold.

Footsteps padded down the tunnel. Not human footsteps—that would have been hair-raising enough, but whatever entity swayed the course of life was not so merciful. Instead, these footsteps _thudded_ against the concrete floor as they approached Rex and Weevil….

And then, a gob of liquid came flying their way.

“Duck!” Rex grabbed Weevil by the shirt this time and pulled him down to the floor with him. A moment later, the liquid seared through the concrete, leaving a smoking hole beside the cringing thieves.

“Holy shit, what is that thing?” asked Rex, his heart hammering against his rib cage. He did not want to, but he shone his flashlight at whatever monstrosity approached them.

A lizard the size of a cow stood an uncomfortably short distance away. Mingled brown and purple covered the creature’s scales, and a thick yellow liquid dripped from its mouth, leaving tiny holes in the floor.

“Weevil, I think we just died and went to Hell.”

The other thief simply shuddered against Rex. Under other circumstances, the touch of his friend’s hands on his shoulders would have pleased Rex, but right now they only reminded him that he was doomed. 

The lizard began walking to the opposite wall, and for one brief moment, Rex hoped that it would simply lose interest in them and move on. But it was not to be: the reptile crawled _up_ the wall and onto the ceiling. 

_Wait a sec. I saw something like this in a movie once._ He threw the flashlight to his cowering partner.

“Stay down and hold the flashlight. I know what this thing’s about to do.” With Weevil aiming the flashlight directly at the creature, Rex opened his tool kit and drew his largest knife, and then he raised himself to his full height. In an instant, he shut the case and shielded his head with it. 

Waving his knife at the monster above, he exclaimed, “Come at me, Lizzie!”

The reptile lunged at Rex—and instantly spitted its throat on the blade below. Rex let go of his knife and watched as the lizard crashed to the floor, geysers of blood arcing from its neck. 

For a while afterwards, neither thief said a word. The two of them simply looked at each other, then at the dying reptile, then back at each other.

After what seemed like a quarter of an hour, Weevil said, “It must have broken your heart to kill a big lizard.”

“Oh, come on. That thing would have burned holes in us both if I hadn’t stabbed its throat open.”

They continued to watch the reptile’s death throes until the monster stopped writhing. The blood ceased to gush and began to trickle. With light tread, Rex walked up to the corpse and pulled his knife out of its throat.

“You take the flashlight the rest of the way, Weevil.”

“Why are you giving orders to me?”

“‘Cause as long as we’re down here, this knife is staying in my hand. And you know…that lizard must have come from somewhere….””

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that any tunnel that has acid-drooling giant lizards is bound to have something equally weird. Like, say, the very thing we’re looking for?”

Grumbling, Weevil picked himself up off the floor. “Because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll do what you say the rest of the way.”

The rest of the walk took quite a while, and so they indeed had little choice but to enliven the journey with conversation, including Rex’s earlier suggestion of an exchange of jokes. As Rex expected and hoped, the repartee grew ribald immediately.

“And then,” said Weevil into their twentieth minute of walking, “he says, ‘Oh, no, madame. I’m quite bored with gendarmes too.’ Hee hee hee!”

Rex laughed, but something about the pattern of Weevil’s jokes made him wonder. No, rather, it accentuated his current supposition….

“Speaking of Oscar Wilde, um…can I ask you a question?”

A disgusted sigh emanated from beside him. “I know what it is, but go ahead.”

“I saw the way you looked at that guy on the boardwalk today, and—whoa, holy hot damn!”

Both men gasped when they saw the sight in front of them.

Before their very eyes lay a door that opened to a chamber remarkable for its sparsity. A chandelier, nearly all except three of its red candles melted, depended from the ceiling. The walls were all black, save for the crimson banners that hung from them. Matching the banners in shade and shape were the rugs that ran across the stone floor up to the high basalt pillar, one side of which had stairs cut into it. But the décor was not what occasioned the gasping.

“There it is, Weevil: the Wyrm of the Wastelands.”

With a trembling hand, Rex pointed to the artifact atop the pillar. In every particular, the statue resembled the image on Cutcliffe’s parchment. This reptilian invertebrate gleamed in the dim candlelight, as though defying the subpar lighting to detract from its luster. 

“Do you wanna grab it, or should I?” asked Rex.

“Well…I’d like to, but you were brave back there. You do the honors.”

“No problem.”

Perhaps he should have been more surprised at Weevil’s sudden display of graciousness, but it mattered not as Rex stepped into the chamber and ascended the pillar’s staircase. He clutched the statue in his sweaty palms and inspected it. Somehow, the Wyrm looked…pure, without a hint of tarnish. The thing shone even more brilliantly up close than it did from a distance. Better yet, this statue had features that went unnoticed in the parchment’s depiction. Embedded in the Wyrm’s moth-like wings were what looked like swirls of white emerald, and the fangs appeared to be made of the same material. The rubies that formed the eyes had what looked like flecks of diamond inside. And…yes, that was a smaller third ruby between the larger two. The little ruby must have onyx inside it; it looked slightly black.

A little voice told Rex to jump from the pillar and onto the floor. He did, executing a perfect landing on his feet. Grinning silently, he held the Wyrm up to Weevil, who rubbed his fingers all over it.

“You know what this means, pal?” asked Rex.

“Hee hee hee! I sure do. Starting tonight, the world—”

“Will be ours!”


	4. Chapter Three: Rex Finally Wins a Damn Duel

_There's a feast waiting for you, and you've never even gotten a taste._  
—Meat Loaf and Bonnie Tyler, "A Kiss is a Terrible Thing to Waste" 

Safe in his hotel room, Rex woke up at nine-thirty in the morning. The previous night’s adventure had taken a toll on him. But it was just as well; he had no intention of doing anything especially early, even if getting up at six AM would have allowed him to scope out some hunky and/or bodacious kooks at the beach. At least, Rex thought so as he pulled the sea-green comforter from his body and stepped onto the beige carpet. Cripes, he simply could not keep his mind off sex during this mission. 

Of course, he knew the reason for that, and it was not solely because of his seemingly permanent inability to get laid. No, there was another reason, and he slept in the bed on the other side of the bright yellow nightstand. Thinking about the Hollywood babes felt better than thinking about Weevil. Hell, even thinking about the Hollywood studs felt better. _Sure, I’m a homo to some degree either way…but it’s not as “real” to think about a hottie whose name I don’t even know. Is that weird?_

In this hour of the morning, Rex searched his mind for last night’s dream. Ordinarily, he avoided putting much stock in the wanderings of his subconscious mind, but something about the previous twenty-four hours told him to take a different tack.

As he pondered the messages of the oneiric realm, he took a seat at the small table that occupied the space where most hotel rooms set an entertainment center. Since Weevil did not bother to unpack the grocery bags before he and Rex embarked on their heist last night, Rex took it upon himself to pull out the box of doughnuts that perched atop the bottles of barbecue sauce. For a second, he considered what doughnuts covered in barbecue sauce would taste like, but then he dismissed the idea. 

The sound of his tearing the box open must have been louder than Rex thought, because Weevil sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Morning, Rex.” He picked his glasses up from the nightstand and slid them on. “I see you’re not waiting for me to join you for breakfast.”

“Hey, when you’re hungry, you’re hungry. And since when you do care about table manners?”

“Don’t ask me that.” 

As he and Rex dug into their box of glazed and chocolate doughnuts, Weevil turned to look at the Wyrm, which coiled on the nightstand.

“I’m still wondering why there was a giant lizard with acidic spit in that tunnel. Actually, I’m wondering _how_ there was a giant lizard with acidic spit.”

Rex swallowed his mouthful of sticky glazed sweetness. “Okay, I don’t even know if I should tell you this, but I heard that there are legends about the tunnels under LA.” 

“Legends? Ooh, like the Mothman? Fascinating.”

“They’re not about moth-people, but it’s the same kinda thing. Some people think that, like, aliens and lizard people live in the tunnels, and that’s why they’re closed off. I guess maybe the tabloid I read that story in was right.”

“You learn something new every day,” said Weevil. “But I’m still disappointed in the lack of moth-people.”

“Where you are,” said Rex, wiping the side of his face with a paper napkin, “there’s always a moth person.”

Weevil snorted. “Cute. But I’m going to go get dressed, and when I’m done, so should you. Time’s a-wasting.”

Rather than protest that _he_ got out of bed first, Rex sat at the table and stuffed a powdered doughnut into his face.

* * *

Getting dressed took them little time, both men having selected tourist-type attire again. The khaki pants remained from yesterday, though Rex opted for a blue T-shirt with an alligator on it while Weevil chose something button-down and plaid. They both stood in front of the Wyrm, which seemed to silently dare them to touch it.

“First things first,” said Weevil, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s figure out how we’re gonna get our psychic powers.”

Rex gave in to the perceived dare. He ran his hands casually over the Wyrm’s protruding fangs, not paying attention to where his fingers roamed. “This thing didn’t come with an instruction manual. I mean, why did Cutcliffe tell us to steal it but not how to—ow!” 

A drop of blood beaded up from Rex’s finger. Before he could wipe the blood away, it disappeared. Whatever scar should have resulted from this cut failed to form, as though Rex had never pricked his finger in the first place. 

The next occurrence was no less surprising. From its open mouth, the Wyrm dispensed a small amount of white, sawdust-like powder.

“That’s fucking weird,” said Weevil.

Rex brushed this powder into his hand and shoved it into his pocket. 

“Uh, I think I just found out how we’re supposed to use the Wyrm.”  
Weevil blanched. 

“What’s a matter, Bug Boy?” said Rex, nudging him on the arm. “I thought you liked blood-sucking things. Don’t be a chicken. Ha, that’s _my_ job!”

“It’s just…urgh, you are so obnoxious.”

“You’re one to talk. Take it like a man, man.”

Quivering, Weevil extended his finger and pressed it to the tip of the Wyrm’s other fang. One drop of blood appeared on his index finger, and he emitted a small yelp. Just as it had done on Rex’s finger, then, the blood vanished. The Wyrm dispensed another dusting of white powder, which Weevil scooped into his pocket.

“Let’s go down to that casino. They won’t know what hit ‘em!” said Rex. “And we won’t even need to use our knives.”

“Don’t get excited just yet. Nefertiti’s doesn’t open until five P.M. We have to find something else to do first.”

“Like what? You wanna go to the _art gallery_?” He chuckled. “Why isn’t there a TV in this room?”

“Well, _you_ were the one who told the clerk to give us the cheapest room in the place! I’m surprised we got more than one bed.”

_But you’d be glad if we only had one bed, wouldn’t you? I know I—_

Gawd, he had to stop. Something, anything to distract him from this tangle of torturous, treacherous feelings would do.

“Eh, let’s just go for a walk and see what happens,” he said. There, that was an open enough suggestion.

What happened consisted of some meandering through the Venice Canals, an unpleasant hour at the skate park (after which Weevil swore that nothing the Wyrm had them do could be more painful than what they experienced there), and a surprisingly long walk on South Venice Beach. 

When the sun began to set, Weevil, sitting on the dunes several feet away from the surf, said, “I think it’s about time to head over to Nefertiti’s. Come on, Rex!” He slapped the hip of the man beside him, and Rex gave a little jump before he rose.

 _You like touching me_ , he thought. _Maybe there was nothing I could do to get my mind or yours off…each other._

* * *

Nefertiti’s Retreat played the ancient Egyptian theme to the hilt. Everywhere a visitor looked, the place was gold, red, or both. Mock hieroglyphs covered the walls and served as the icons in all the slot machines; the waitresses dressed as harem girls in belly-baring white tops and slit floor-length silver skirts; and, in a frightening coincidence, several of the other staff members dressed as lizard people, the images of which were ubiquitous on the hieroglyphic murals.

“Don’t get hung up on the reptiles or _especially_ the waitresses,” said Weevil, who clung to Rex’s arm as they traversed the grounds of the casino. “We’re here for one reason, and that’s to win big.”

“Hey, that’s my motto in life.”

“It’s mine, too. And—aha! Here’s just the right place to do it!”

Weevil pointed out the Duel Ring, similar in almost every respect to the ones from Duelist Kingdom, in the middle of the floor. People gathered around the arena, watching the dealer, a leather-clad man with a mohawk haircut, defeat an opponent who looked like a middle manager. Off to the side in a lifeguard chair sat a woman in a tight electric blue pantsuit and what looked like a red-and-white-striped wig. A sign made to resemble letters carved into papyrus hung from the wall: DEFEAT THE DEALER AND WIN A GRAND PRIZE!

“And that takes care of your life points!” said the dealer, who threw his head back and laughed.

The middle manager sighed audibly, gathered up his cards, and left the arena without saying a word.

“Dude, we’ve seen this before,” said Rex. “Last night, as a matter of fact. Why are you pointing it out to me like I’ve never seen it until now?”

“Last night was no good for a duel. We had…business to take care of. Besides, the crowd’s bigger this time.”

The dealer threw up his arms. “Which one of you upstarts wants to take me on?”

Rex stepped up in front of Weevil and stood with his legs wide apart. Now was his chance for the Wyrm to show him what it was made of—and for Rex to show the crowd what _he_ was made of. “I will!”

“Huh? Oh, you, alligator guy. Come on up!”

“Good luck, Rex!” Weevil called as his friend took his place opposite the dealer.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Here’s the rules, newbie,” the dealer said when Rex had settled in to his side of the arena. “We’ve each got four thousand life points. Any monster with over two thousand attack points requires at least one tribute to summon. And, most importantly, if you win, you’ll get the grand prize, which no one has ever won.”

“Then I’ll be the first!”

“Everyone says that, then they go home crying,” said the dealer with a sneer.

“Oh, yeah? We’ll see.” Rex hitched up his trousers. With the Wyrm on his side, he could not go wrong.

“All right, man. I’ll get this party started by setting this card face down. Now I’ve ended my turn. That’s simple enough for you, right?”

_Arrogant prick. I can take him._

“All right, I play Petiteranodon in attack mode.”

The first creature to appear on Rex’s side looked like a big-eyed infant _Pteranodon_ , newly hatched from an egg.

“Since you don’t have any monsters on the field, I can attack your life points directly. Go, Petiteranodon!”

The infant pterosaur emitted a squeaky cry and started to flutter over to the dealer’s side of the arena, but the face-down card rose up and blocked its path. 

“Tsk, tsk. Is that the best you can do? A little prehistoric baby bird? I activate Solemn Judgment. At the cost of half my life points, it'll wipe that thing right out.”

With a squawk, the Petiteranodon disappeared.

Rather than pointing out that pterosaurs were not birds, Rex said, “Heh. That’s just what I wanted you to do. Petiteranodon was my throwdown monster. If the opponent’s card effect sends Petiteranodon to the graveyard, I can special summon any dinosaur card at level four or higher. Come on, Souleating Oviraptor!”

What appeared to be a dark gray, red-clawed, heavily tattooed _Oviraptor_ with blue flames running down its back took its place on the field.

“And,” Rex added, “when Souleating Oviraptor is summoned, I can add any dinosaur-type card from my deck to my hand. And that’s just what I’m doing now!” 

Reaching for the top card of his deck, he drew the welcome sight of Sabersaurus. He slapped the card down on his station, and a mad-eyed pink _Triceratops_ lookalike with swords for horns joined Souleating Oviraptor.

“I end my turn.”

Before Rex could gloat, the dealer drew his next card and snickered. The twisted smile that spread across the leather-clad man’s face made Rex’s heart sink.

“You’ll regret that once you meet my surefire killer. I summon Nitocris the Ghoul Queen!”

On the dealer’s side materialized a humanoid figure that might have once looked feminine but was now bone-thin and decrepit with age. One side of its face was missing, revealing the skull underneath, and the flesh on the other side was a pale, sickly blue. Yellowed bandages encased the ancient queen’s body, and a mane of gray-black wisps topped its head. The creature waved its spindly arms in the air, extending its clawed fingers. On Rex’s screen, the enemy monster’s attack and defense points read 2400 and 1900, respectively.

 _Nothing in my hand or on the field can beat that thing_ , he thought, scanning his cards. _Damn it, why does it have to be like this? It’s not right! I need to wreck this guy! Come on, white powder, do your stuff._

The dealer cracked a smirk. He pointed dramatically at the hologram of the crouching therapod. “Nitocris, grind his Souleating Oviraptor into the sediment! Carrion Claws!”

Nitocris emitted a horrible raspy laugh as it lashed out and destroyed the _Oviraptor_ with two swipes of its pointed fingers, and Rex saw his life points drop by six hundred.

“Looks like that creature’s a fossil again,” the dealer taunted. 

Rex drew another card: Polymerization. _What’s this doing here? I don’t keep that in my deck. It won’t do me any good right now. But it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna win. I’m gonna win. I’m gonna win. No, I’m winning. I’m winning…._

“I shift to defense mode and end my turn,” he said.

“That won’t work forever. I summon Charnel Ghoul!”

On the field, a rubbery-looking canine monster with burning yellow eyes and drooling jaws joined the Ghoul Queen. Her attack points increased from 2400 to 2600.

“My Ghoul Queen’s attack points increase for every zombie card on the field, and the Charnel Ghoul is a zombie _par excellence_ ,” the dealer said smugly.

_This is sounding a lot like that Insect Queen card. Maybe I can counter these ghouls the way you’d counter her? And hey, it’s not like she can gain more than 1500 attack points, unless she can turn other monsters into those zombies…can she?_

“Nitocris, attack his Sabersaurus!”

The flesh-eating mummy sliced the bowing herbivore in two. 

And so the duel progressed for another few turns. Rex drew cards with less attack power than Nitocris, played them in defense mode, and watched as the Ghoul Queen demolished them.

“Come on, this is getting boring. Hurry up and forfeit already,” said the dealer.

 _I hate to say it, but I might end up doing just that…. No, wait. What am I saying? I should win. I deserve to win. I’m better than he is. I should have been the champ all the way back in the regional championships! I’m winning. I’m winning. I’ve already won! I’ve beaten him! I’m in this until the end!_

As if confirming his self-affirmation, the next card he drew put a smile on his face. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Now here was a game-changer!

“I sacrifice my face-down cards…and summon Yig, Father of Serpents!”

On Rex’s side of the field, a massive green-scaled, black-mottled snake with a bright red and yellow feathered crest coiled up. The reptile opened its mouth in a hiss, baring its gleaming white fangs. The crowd gasped at the sight of this gargantuan reptile, which Rex knew none of them had ever seen before, in their midst.

“Holy crap!” said the dealer. “What is that thing?”

“This thing is your doom. Your ghoul gal is chow for the reptile house now! Yig, Fulsome Fangs!”

The serpent god lunged at Nitocris and bit it in half. Rex felt his heart leap as he saw the dealer’s life points decrease by a quantity of 900.

Meanwhile, the dealer growled. “Impossible! There’s no card like that! If it existed, I would have heard about it!”  
“Tonight’s just a surprising night for you, man.” _I’ve won. I’ve won. I’ve won. I beat him. I’m the champion. I’m walking away with that grand prize._

As it turned out, the dealer had obviously structured his entire deck around boosting up Nitocris. While such a strategy had been known to work—Mai Valentine used it to great success, as Rex would never forget—it could not stand up to the Father of Serpents’ might. Nothing the dealer threw at Rex stuck; with its own inherent power and the help of some equipment and spells, Yig demolished everything in its path. At last, the dealer lost his final life points, and a warm glow like an explosive fireball ignited in Rex’s chest.

_I did it. I won._

Moaning, the dealer sank to his knees. 

“No! This is impossible! Nobody ever beats me!”

“Like I said, this night is like none you’ve ever lived through,” said Rex. The feeling of sweet radiation continued.

But he did not have long to be alone with his self-congratulatory feelings. The referee clenched her fists and stalked over to him. Trembling, she faced the crowd.

“The unprecedented has happened…a challenger has beaten our unbeatable dealer!” She looked at Rex. “What’s your name, champ?”

“Rex Raptor.” He did not know whether he liked where this was going. On the one hand, he had won, and in a tense match at that. On the other hand, this woman’s facial expression and body language bespoke a profound anger, as though he had pronounced the unspeakable sacred name of her god.

For the time being, he let that pass. Evidently, so did the referee, for she announced to the entire room, “Rex Raptor has just won the grand prize: fifty thousand dollars and a brand-new car!” She pressed a set of keys into his hand.

To assure himself that he remained within the bounds of conscious, waking reality rather than a dream or hallucination, he cast a glance at the dealer. The once-proud man had left the arena already, stomping in the direction of the building’s fire exit.

* * *

Life was good. Rex and Weevil sat at the table in their hotel room, basking in the afterglow of victory, partaking of the room service fare they had ordered. Rex tore into his grilled chicken wing, savoring the tang of barbecue sauce-soaked fowl meat between his teeth and on his tongue. This piece of flesh, however, merely whet his appetite for the main course: a hunk of baby back ribs, which lay between him and his friend. He yanked a piece off the rib and rolled it around in the sauce on his plate. 

Pretending not to notice Rex, Weevil spread strawberry jam and honey on his English muffin. In fascination, Rex watched his friend consume his breakfast-for-dinner: Weevil’s tongue darted out to lick up the condiments, smearing his lips and surrounding skin with a sticky, glossy redness. Only a thin coating of honey and jelly remained on the muffin when Weevil bit into it. The sound of another person chewing repulsed most people, but Rex discovered that in this case, he wanted to listen to it. 

Gawd, that was creepy. Better swallow his food so he could talk about something distracting.

“The card the dealer used as his ‘surefire killer’ was an Insect Queen rip-off.”

Weevil chewed a few more times before swallowing his own meal. “You’re telling me? That Nitocris creature was just a zombie version of the Insect Queen, except it didn’t lay eggs.” He folded his arms. “Hmph! As if the Insect Queen could be improved upon! Anyway, that artifact worked out well for you, I see.”

“Yep, it sure did. Imagine if we’d had it at Duelist Kingdom or Battle City. ‘Course, they say cheating’s not a satisfying way to win.”

The entomophile scoffed. “Tell that to the ancient Greeks.”

 _Heh. Cheating to win isn’t the only thing you like about the ancient Greeks._

“Oh, I’m just about to take a shower, but let me see your deck first.”

“…Okay.” Rex reached into his other pocket and handed his deck to Weevil, who thumbed through it.

“Hmm…no, no, no…ah, there it is!” He pulled out a card and showed it to Rex: the Great White Worm in all its eye-bleeding glory.

A realization hit Rex. “You slipped Rlim Shaikorth and Polymerization into my deck!”

“Hee hee hee! Right you are!”

“What, you didn’t think I had enough talent to beat the dealer on my own? For fuck’s sake, I used magic powder during that duel!”

“Your deck had a couple of superfluous cards in it. I took the liberty of replacing them with Polymerization and my Great White Worm.”

“I didn’t say you could do that!”

“There’s no rule against it here. This isn’t Battle City. Besides, I wanted you to win for us. Now, leave me to shower in peace.” He left Rlim Shaikorth on his side of the table.

“Fine.”

As Weevil took his shower, Rex busied himself with the rest of the ribs. Barbecue sauce enhanced the flavor, but they would taste even better with some honey mustard sauce, so he squirted a packet thereof onto his plate. He dipped a rib into the mixture, took a bite, and closed his eyes in satisfaction.

All too soon, a damp-haired Weevil emerged from the bathroom. Stepping out on the carpeted floor, he wore shiny black pajamas patterned with golden scarab beetles. 

The sight of his friend in those pajamas struck Rex like a species-destroying meteor. That overcoat made Weevil look comical, but now, here he was clad in Chinese silk that made him look soft, even delicate. The bottoms clung to his hips, and when Weevil turned to reach into his open suitcase, Rex could see that the trousers emphasized his buttocks.

Weevil looked good before, but he never looked better than he did right now. It was now or never if Rex wanted to make the most of this moment, to confirm his suppositions and actualize his shameful fantasies, the ones that had haunted him for at least several months now. But how to breach the subject?

"Y'know,” he proposed, “since there's no TV, we _could_ entertain ourselves the old-fashioned way."

"Good idea! I'll go get my deck." Weevil began to step in the direction of the chair that held his backpack.

"No, the _other_ old-fashioned way." 

"There's a pastime older than Duel Monsters? What's that, painting on cave walls?"

Rex smote his face with his palm. "Don’t make me have to spell it out! I thought you’d know! We could…activate each other’s trap cards. And I’m not talking about doing anything that involves playing a card game.”

His friend paused for a moment, just staring at him. Then he broke into a toothy smirk. "Hee hee, now the truth comes out! I wasn’t sure you had it in you, Rex, but I should’ve known. You must be desperate if you wanna sleep with me! Bet you’re a virgin.”

 _Desperate_? Rex could not even appreciate Weevil’s bit of self-deprecation, intentional or not; the little pest knew exactly what to say to get under his skin. Knowing that the words were true made it worse. As always, however, two could play at that game.

“Well, you didn’t say you were _un_ interested. The ladies don’t exactly flock to you like bees to a hive. You’re probably a desperate virgin too!” He poked his tongue out.

Seeing Weevil ball his hands into fists made Rex’s boner stiffen further. Gawd, had his friend ever been hotter than this? Clad in those adorable pajamas _and_ visibly furious….

“Oh, yeah? We’ll see who’s a virgin when I’m finished with you!”

“Bring it on, bug boy.” Rex flopped onto his back and spread his legs, facing the ceiling. “I’m not gonna do anything to stop you.” _Everything is going according to plan._

With a cry of “Virgin!,” Weevil sprang onto the bed and reached into his friend’s trousers. 

The experience lasted all of ten seconds. Weevil’s hand lingered where it was for several seconds longer, and then, suddenly, he withdrew it.

Grinning, he looked into Rex’s eyes. “Ha! You’re a virgin _and_ a queer! Well, you’re not a virgin now, but you’re still a queer.”

Rex brought himself halfway up, resting on his elbows. “So what if I am? You’re even more of a virgin and a queer than me!”

“Prove it!”

“With pleasure.” 

Smiling, Rex proved his point, which took all of seven seconds.

“Ha! It takes me longer to tie my shoelaces!”

“Anyone could’ve done that, and it would’ve been the same.”

After the still, soundless moments that followed, Weevil broke the silence. 

“Rex, I thought you wanted that Mai Valentine lady, but was that just an elaborate fraud?”

“No, I _did_ want her. Hell, if she asked me now, I don’t think I’d say no. But I’ve never liked only women. Sometimes I wish I did, but I don’t. And I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

Silence reigned for another several seconds.

“Can I tell you something?” Weevil asked.

“Go ahead.”

He sighed. “You were right when you called me a queer. I’ve never liked women, ever. The first time I had a crush was on Pegasus, of all people! And I’ve been looking lustfully at the surfers here, just like you. I’m a maggot faggot!”

Rex blinked. “A what?”

“Never mind.”

“You know what was _really_ weird about that duel? Besides winning a new car, I mean.”

“No, what?”

“Well, I had the white powder in my pocket, and I’m sure that helped a lot. But I thought I’d be reading the dealer’s mind in order to win. I didn’t see into his mind at all. I just felt so much…prouder and angrier and more determined to win than ever before. And I won.”

“Mmm. That bodes well for us.” He rolled over onto his belly. “Just think, Rex. We’ve got super-rare cards, fifty thousand bucks, a new car, and the power of something ancient and terrible. We’re unstoppable!”


	5. Chapter Four: The Boys Strike It Rich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: in this chapter, Rex and Weevil argue over whether a stranger who presents as neither a man nor a woman is a man or a woman, and both of them refer to this person as "it." They have not yet learned the error of their ways.
> 
> The song lyrics quoted by the aforementioned non-binary character are from the song "Figure Eight," written by Bob Dorough and performed by Blossom Dearie.

_A wasted youth is better by far than a wise and productive old age._  
—Meat Loaf, "Everything Louder Than Everything Else" 

For the next few weeks, “unstoppable” was precisely the right word to describe Rex and Weevil. Other words, such as “incorrigible” and “reckless,” also fit, but they preferred the term “unstoppable.”

The chain of events started the next morning.

“Look at this, Rex!”

Unlike the previous day, Weevil awakened Rex for a change. The long-haired man sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep seeds from his eyes. 

“What is it? Is there a giant moth on the window that you just _have_ to show me?”

“No, it’s the Wyrm. Look at it!”

Rex stood up and walked the few steps it took to reach the sunshine-colored nightstand. Then he took a step back.

A pile of white powder, significantly larger than last night’s, sat underneath the Wyrm’s mouth.

“How’d that happen? We didn’t prick our fingers a second time.”

Weevil shrugged. “Does it matter? We got powder for nothing! Get dressed and let’s shove this into our clothes.”

“Dude, we gotta eat breakfast.”

Weevil elbowed him. “Oh, we can stuff some doughnuts in our mouth in the car.”

“Wait, you wanna leave right now?”

“Why not? There’s a whole sprawling city of exploits out there. We’d better get an early start. Get your clothes on and let’s move it!”

While showing up the dealer at Nefertiti’s Retreat again might have been emotionally satisfactory, Rex and Weevil opted to expand their horizons. The next couple of hours saw them take their new car to Hollywood Boulevard. Hollywood Boulevard, Rex discovered, sparkled as red and gold as Nefertiti’s Retreat. What was not red or gold was hot pink or gleaming white—and _everything_ was bright. The volume of tourists here was even thicker than in Venice, adding to the general heat of the street. Of course, Rex reflected, he did not exactly have the right to demean other people for their tourism.

“So, what do you want to do first?” he asked Weevil, once they were walking the streets, taking note of the tourists in T-shirts, denim shorts, and fanny packs and the people dressed as gorillas, superheroes, and pin-up models. “Look at the celebrity stars on the sidewalk? Visit Grauman’s Chinese Theatre? Buy some crap from a vendor selling souvenirs? I’m sure your life wouldn’t be complete without some ‘I ♥ LA’ short shorts.” _You’d look good in them, too._

“Maybe _yours_ wouldn’t. You have as much fashion sense as a fifty-five-year-old Deadhead. Or maybe a cowboy fetishist.”

“Who are you calling a bad dresser, Poindexter?”

Rather than rebut, Weevil pointed to the gaudiest, most gilded movie palace Rex had ever seen. “Ooh, that place is having a premiere!”

The El Capitan Theatre announced its film screening for the day on a huge animated screen that displayed the movie’s specially designed logo through a cluster of fireworks. Rex pretended not to be enticed. “Of a kids’ movie.”

“So? Any place that fancy is bound to be well decorated. We’ve gotta do something that isn’t _completely_ hokey while we’re here.”

Putting up resistance was fruitless whenever Rex tried it with Weevil. They went inside the El Capitan and, for a fee that would have been exorbitant if they had not won fifty thousand dollars recently, enjoyed a brand-new animated feature film in a lush, old-fashioned setting. Even the abundance of children did nothing to spoil their fun.

As the afternoon wore on, Rex and Weevil spent their time maximizing the Hollywood Boulevard tourist experience: riding up through Beverly Hills and Bel Air to see movie stars’ oversized houses, gazing at the creepily lifelike statues and sometimes obviously artificial statues in the wax museums, getting their fill of shrunken heads and other such oddities at Ripley’s Believe It or Not!

Finally, evening came, and with it, time to try out the Wyrm’s powder again. Their next gambling venture took place at a casino named Lemuria, which attempted an incongruous combination of undersea and classical décor.

“Talk about tacky!” said Weevil when he and Rex walked through the double doors. “Did they throw darts to decide on a theme?”

“Just because you’re a—what did you call it?—a ‘maggot faggot’ doesn’t mean you’re an interior decorator.”

Interior decorator or not, Weevil had what Rex considered correct judgment about the casino’s blend of aesthetic motifs. On the wall were painted clams that opened to reveal mermaids clad in seashell brassieres and strings of pearls, which would have been fine, except that depictions of long-haired fish-men in togas accompanied the mermaids. The staff members continued this association, dressing in tunics, olive wreaths, and pearls, as well as some earrings and rings shaped like seashells and, for some inexplicable reason, crabs.

“Look at how these people can’t even match their clothes with their accessories,” Weevil continued, as though Rex had said nothing. “Red crab rings with fuchsia togas? What are they thinking?”

“Okay, we did it last night, but that doesn’t mean you have to be the world’s gayest dude all the time.”

“What’s the fun of being gay if you’re going to confine it to sex? I demand the right to criticize décor! And other people’s fashion choices!” 

Rex allowed himself a mischievous grin. “Hmm…maybe you’re on to something. I’m gonna yell at the next sloppy dresser I see.”

In the ensuing rush of gambling, however, he had little time for giving out unsolicited fashion advice. From the blackjack table, where he put a hundred dollars on red and won the amount ten times over, to the slot machines, where he raked in so much coinage that the woman sitting next to him screamed almost directly into his ear, Rex lost himself in a winning streak.

Towards the end of the night, Rex and Weevil returned to the parking garage and took their seats in the convertible. They flashed wide, teeth-baring grins at each other.

“I rocked those amateurs all night,” Rex said, turning the key in the ignition. “How’d you do?”

Weevil gave him a thumbs-up. “I’m a human Roulette Spider, except that everything turns out in my favor!” He patted his pocket, which was stuffed with cash.

The radio, when Rex turned it on, blasted some thumping rhythm and blues jams, the perfect accompaniment to the giddy drive back to the hotel.

Throughout the week, Rex and Weevil rode higher waves than they had ever known. Rex clung to a peak he expected never to reach. Each evening, after spending the morning stuffing their clothes with the Wyrm’s powder and the day enjoying the beach or a tourist attraction, they would go to some casino or carnival or another, win every bet they placed, and walk out with their pockets full of cash. Every night, when they returned to their hotel room in Venice, one of them would reach into the other’s pants for a pinch or grab. Sometimes one would slip his hands beneath the waistband while the other was driving their new purple convertible, though he would only do this on open desert roads.

Deciding what to do with their winnings and in what order was the hardest part. Southern California was nothing if not a nearly infinite gallery of attractions, and in their convertible, Rex and Weevil could go anywhere they chose, and they went everywhere they could. When they learned that the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles had a Dinosaur Hall _and_ an Insect Zoo, they added the destination to their plans, which compensated for the disappointment Rex felt at the lack of dinosaur skeletons at the La Brea Tar Pits.

The greatest pleasure Rex experienced during this heady time, however, was watching Weevil win a duel at an expensive night club that had its own Duel Ring. The match wasn’t even close. To the horror of everyone else in the establishment, Weevil summoned Rlim Shaikorth, whose sobbing mouth and constantly bleeding eye sockets looked even more disgusting up close than they did on the card.

“Sweet Christ!” the opponent, who was also a house dealer, had cried. “I gotta finish that thing off quick, before I puke up my dinner!” 

“Not a chance,” Weevil had replied with a strangely endearing sneer. “Rlim Shaikorth, Eternal Frost!”

With a blast of arctic wind and ice, the Great White Worm destroyed the dealer’s life points, and Weevil walked away with another reward of tens of thousands of dollars. No car was included as part of the reward package, but he did win free drinks for a year.

“Damn, it feels good to be us!” said Rex when he got dressed the next morning. “How all those poor suckers who aren’t us can stand their lives, I don’t know.”

Weevil, who was already wearing his new outfit of green suede and a dragonfly-shaped bow tie, patted him on the back. “You wanna go down to Mexico and see the crater from the K-T meteor?” 

“That’d be great, but it’d take a while. Why don’t we go to the South Bay beaches? It might be nice to do something kinda, you know, low-key after all the excitement.”

“Okay, but let’s fill up on the powder first.”

Once again, they had no need to prick their fingers on the statue’s fangs. Last night, the Wyrm had dispensed its characteristic white powder, with which the men lined their pockets and socks.

Approximately twenty-five minutes of driving brought them to Manhattan Beach, where they parked in front of a promising-looking building that announced its purpose as a purveyor of fine ice cream and other frozen treats. Not long afterward, they walked along the shore, clutching ice cream sandwiches in their hands and watching the white-crested green water lap at the edge of the sand. More of those ubiquitous tanned bodybuilders in swim trunks and surfer girls in bikinis swayed around the beach and hurled themselves into the waves, but for some reason, Rex found himself less tempted than usual.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why does it feel like we should be holding hands or something?” When he heard those words leave his mouth, he bit into his maple bacon ice cream sandwiched between two peanut butter cookies. _Did I really just say that?_

“The wrong way? What would be the _right_ way to take that question?” Weevil cocked an eyebrow at Rex. 

“Uh….” Rex tugged at his shirt collar with his free hand. “I just mean that it feels like we’re in a commercial or something. Like, there should be upbeat music playing right now, and then an announcer’s going to talk about how sunscreen is a must for your day at the beach. Know what I mean?”

“I’ll pretend that I think what you want me to think you mean. Does that make you feel better?” Weevil took a bite of his own ice cream sandwich, a pair of chocolate chip cookies wrapping vanilla ice cream and dipped in milk chocolate.

Fortunately, Rex spotted a distraction just before the conversation could inevitably grow more awkward: a flame enwreathed by black smoke rose into the sky and then disappeared.

“Whoa, there’s a fire going on! We should check it out!”

With Weevil close behind, Rex ran as well as he could with the sand slowing him down until they both reached the source of the fire. When they stopped, they both did a double take.

A slender, dark-skinned person of ambiguous sex sat on—his? Her? Its?—haunches atop a wooden crate marked COCONUTS. A pale orange sarong wrapped the person’s body, and a cloth hat that resembled a conch shell covered its bald head. It sucked on what looked like a stick of cinnamon-colored incense.

Something told Rex that Weevil was pondering the same question he was. In a rough whisper, Rex said to his friend, “It’s got a bald head, so I think it’s a guy.”

“No, it’s a girl,” Weevil replied in a similar tone. “No guy could have a body like that.”

“C’mon, it’s not curvy enough to be a chick.”

“It could be binding its chest or something. You don’t know.”

He watched the seemingly sexless person pull the stick from its mouth and exhale a breath of fire and smoke. Instead of the smoke that Rex was accustomed to seeing emerge from his own mouth during a ganja session, this weirdo distinctly breathed out blazing, crackling flame surrounded by black clouds. The fire dissipated in the air, and the man-woman sucked in more of the sparkling stick’s still-burning tip. When it removed the stick a second time, the person exhaled _white_ smoke instead.

“Did you know that the Swami can hear you?”

Rex and Weevil whipped around to see who had just startled them out of their speculation…and it was the robed woman who had given them the Yig and Rlim Shaikorth cards at Ocean Front Walk. As before, a hood covered her eyes.

“You’re that lady from the Venice Boardwalk!” said Weevil. “What are you doing here? Have you been following us?”

“I came to see my associate, the Swami Chinmayi. We meet to discuss matters that concern the whole world, even if few people know what they are. To answer your other question, I expected to find you here.”

Whoever she was, this woman was seriously starting to creep Rex out. “Why did you think we would be here?”

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that. I have a message to give you: beware the pleasure cycle.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It is not wrong to seek and indulge in pleasure. But the more you use the Wyrm for its intended purpose, the more it will use you.”

“How do you know we—”

“I know. And I also know that you have used your Other God cards in conjunction with the white powder.”

Weevil snickered. “We sure have! It feels awesome! At last, we’ve achieved the greatness we knew was waiting for us!”

The Swami Chinmayi removed the burning stick from its mouth and loudly exhaled another breath of fire engulfed in white smoke. 

“‘You would be great if you could make a figure eight,’” Chinmayi said in a voice that reminded Rex of the Ghost of Christmas Past from a television special he had seen several times. 

“Uh, can you explain that?” asked Rex.

“Consider the form of your Other God cards, and think of what else a worm—or a snake—can be. You need not lose yourself in greed.”

Weevil folded his arms and scowled, taking care to hold on to his ice cream. “Can’t you just say what you mean?”

“I was about to. You have done well to remove the Wyrm from beneath the city, but it must not be in your possession for much longer if you wish to live.”

“That’s just crazy talk,” said Rex. “We’re taking care of that thing and doing mighty all right for ourselves. We’re high rollers now! Going anywhere we want, doing anything we please….” Weevil smiled and nodded in agreement.

“You may be. But to continue down this path will end your lives. The Pink Pangolin and her minions know already that their all-important artifact is missing and that its guardian reptile is dead. Soon, they will discover who is responsible for their loss.”

Rex sighed. “So, you’re saying we should put the Wyrm back where we found it?”

“No, I mean that you must destroy the Wyrm.”

Weevil gasped while Rex emitted a cry of disbelief.

“Impossible!” said the entomophile. “Why would we ever give it up? It’s been bringing us nothing but wealth and power!”

“So you say, but you _will_ destroy it. I only hope that you do so before you fall into your enemies’ hands.”

“Hmph! Okay, lady,” continued Weevil. “If you know so much about our future and the Wyrm, why don’t you answer a question that’s been nagging us?”

The robed woman hesitated. “Very well.”

“How come, if the Wyrm is supposed to grant you psychic powers, Rex and I can’t read minds or see into the future? I thought anyone who was psychic could do that. We’ve been winning every game we play, but we’re still not psychic. We don’t even have past-life regressions.”

This time it was the woman’s turn to sigh. “No, Weevil, you and your friend _are_ psychic. The Wyrm bestows a different kind of power from what you expected, but it is no less a psychic ability for all that. It is the foundation of the deadliest powers, and for that, the Wyrm is too dangerous to last.”

“Come off it, lady,” said Rex. “Why do you want this thing destroyed anyway?”

“Just as the Egyptian God cards are not the only god cards in the world, the Millennium Items are not the only artifacts that must be kept hidden away for the good of the world, lest they fall into the wrong hands. I was sure that your hands were right, or else I would never have given you those cards.”

As if to defy the woman, Weevil took a bite of his ice cream sandwich before making his next reply. “Yeah,” he said, chocolate chip cookie bits and vanilla ice cream mush muffling his voice. “You gave us those cards, and we’re whupping the competition with ‘em! No one else could have done as well.”

“‘You’d be wise if you thought twice before you made another single move,’” added the Swami in its androgynous timbre.

Weevil stamped his foot on the sand. “That’s it. Come on, Rex, we are leaving these weirdos!”

“Right,” Rex said to the mysterious woman. “Sorry, but we gotta go. We can’t take any more of this silliness.”

While he left, following Weevil, the woman called out, “Dispose of the Wyrm! You have no choice if you want to live!”  


From the corner of his eye, Rex thought he saw the Swami Chinmayi blow out the fiery cinnamon stick and bite into a strawberry-and-sugar-cookie ice cream sandwich.


	6. Chapter Five: Pink Exacts Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is by _far_ the most violent of all that have come so far, and possibly the most violent in the whole story. If you were hoping this whole fic would be a nonstop party in SoCal tourist destinations, then this chapter’s going to burst your bubble. And if the meat-eating bothered you before, just wait until you read the dinosaur-on-dinosaur carnage here. In other words, you’ve just reached the torture chapter.
> 
> Note: I have changed one of the passages in this chapter to remove what I realized very belatedly was unintentional dubious consent.

_And I don’t know where I ever got the bright idea that I was cool—_  
_So alone and independent, but I’m depending on you now._  
_And you’ll always be the only thing that I just can’t be without._  
_And I’m out for you tonight—I’m coming out for you tonight!_  
—Fire, Inc., “Nowhere Fast”  
  


__

The first sign that something had gone horribly wrong occurred the night Rex and Weevil returned from their long-awaited visit to the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County. 

Until then, the day seemed perfect. Both men won at slots, blackjack, and roulette again and again and again. Every game Rex played gave him the same feeling: he _knew_ he would win; he could feel it in his bones, but at no point did he ever see where the roulette wheel would stop or what cards were in the dealer’s hand. He simply…knew he would win. This phenomenon proved especially potent when he played games of Duel Monsters for money. Like a drum, the mantra _I’ve won—I’ve won—I’ve won_ would pound in his mind. And then, of course, he would win.

Making more matters more ironic, at first things seemed to be going better than ever before. By the end of the week, Rex and Weevil had won so much money—being transient and therefore unable to open bank accounts in Los Angeles, they stashed the cash piecemeal in their backpacks, beneath the hotel room nightstand’s Gideon Bible, and taped to the top of the bathroom cabinet—that they estimated that they might never have to work again. 

He thought back to the museum. Even the main central hall displayed a fight between a _T. rex_ and a _Triceratops_ , which told Rex that he was in for a wonderful time. The Dinosaur Hall itself was everything he had ever dreamed of in a museum exhibit: recreations of therapods’ hunting expeditions, literal hundreds of fossils, completely assembled skeletons, and even the world’s only collection of differently aged _T. rex_. Shortly thereafter, on the second floor, Rex felt a similar thrill all over again at the Dino Lab, where he got to touch an actual _T. rex_ toe bone. On the same floor, Weevil found his own niche in the Insect Zoo, which boasted the largest beetles and spiders either of them had ever seen up close. Weevil complained that the exhibit had been too small for his liking, so his face lit up like a cat’s in front of a seafood store when he discovered that they were in time to walk through the Butterfly Pavilion. 

“It’s the season of _Lepidoptera_!” he cried, extending his arms in the evident hope of brushing his fingers across the wings of any of the butterflies and moths that fluttered along overhead.

When Rex thought about it, the gambling seemed like a blur between the educational experience and now. His favorite part of any day was not winning every game he tried his hand at but those moments he shared with Weevil, those times when they were not playing poker or roulette or the slots but strolling on boardwalks in the sun and spray or eating delicious California cuisine and chatting about nothing in particular.

Exemplifying the latter, this perfect day had to be capped off with a late-night dinner from a pizzeria on Abbot Kinney Boulevard. The place was close enough to the hotel to walk to, which was fortunate, since the restaurant afforded no real parking space. The pizzeria’s quarters were unappealingly cramped, however, which prompted the men to order their food to go and take it back to their room.

Not twenty minutes after setting their half-chicken, half-salad pizza on the table did they have only two slices left. 

“Slow down, you ravenous carnivore,” said Weevil. 

“We’ve got enough money to keep eating like this for years,” said Rex. “Hell, we could buy a house and live in luxury for the rest of our lives!”

Weevil paused in his consumption of his dinner. “ _We_ could buy a house to live in? Together?” He set the slice of pizza back on his paper plate. 

_Oh, no. Time to bluff._

“Um….” Rex felt a sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I meant, _each_ of us could buy his own house!”

“Sure, and we’d live next door to each other and meet up for Duel Monsters and movies and dinner dates all the time, wouldn’t we? _Wouldn’t we_?”

Damn it. Weevil was on to him. Nothing Rex could say would allay what his friend now knew to be the truth, but then, Rex suspected that Weevil did not really expect an answer to his question. Better to just change the subject, however awkwardly.

“So, I still think that Swami person was a guy,” he said. “It would’ve had tits if it were a chick.”

“If it were a guy, it would’ve had body hair! You could see its legs and arms just fine, and they were hairless. Besides, it was wearing a dress.”

“No, that was one of those, like, ceremonial robe things. And even if it wasn’t, some guys wear dresses.”

“In public?”

“We _are_ in California.”

Weevil snickered. “True! But what’s more important is that weird lady who shows up when we’re not expecting it. Is she following us?”

“Maybe. She did say that she knows what we’ll do. And if psychic powers work for us, they might work for her, too.” He bit into a full quarter of his slice of chicken-topped pizza.

Briefly, as if contemplating Rex’s words, Weevil picked up his own slice of pizza and looked in the direction of the nightstand. A few seconds later, he dropped his food back onto the plate.

“‘Smatter, Weeves?”

“Rex, keep eating that pizza.”

“You don’t have to tell me!” The next mouthful of pizza melded beautifully with the shreds of chicken, just as always.

While Rex chewed, Weevil continued to look at the nightstand. Instead of continuing to consume his own pizza, he raised his fingers to his mouth as though about to bite his nails. Speechlessly, he stood up and walked over to the other side of the room, where he ran his index finger over the Wyrm.

“Oh, gawd. Oh. _Gawd_. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true.”

“What is it? Just come out and say it.”

“Come over here and finish that pizza.”

As Rex followed this directive, savoring the intoxicating blend of cheese, tomato sauce, buttery crust, and grilled chicken, he saw what Weevil meant. The moment the pizza disappeared down Rex’s throat, the Wyrm drooled a pile of white powder.

“The pleasure cycle,” said Weevil. “‘Beware the pleasure cycle.’”

Then they grinned at each other.

“Well, damn, what’s the problem?” said Rex. “This is the awesomest thing that could ever happen to anyone!”

“Yeah, and it all belongs to us! That weird lady didn’t know what she was talking about! Life just gets better and better! Hang on, I’m about to make a phone call.”

“Huh?”

“Shush.” Weevil picked up his cell phone from the nightstand and dialed a number. Evidently, the person on the other end answered on the second ring.  


“Hello, Kiki?”

Rex felt his muscles tense up.

“Yes, this is Weevil. And I don’t care about time zones. You’re awake anyway, so it doesn’t matter. If you’re wondering why we haven’t come back with the—uh, what Cutcliffe asked for, it’s because I don’t need her anymore. Let her know that she can hire a new stooge to do her dirty work.” He paused. “Yes, that means I quit!” Another pause. “Where I go, he goes.” A third pause. “Stop giggling! Tell her she can sell bootleg cards in Hell!”

He hung up the phone and set it back down on the nightstand, next to the Wyrm.

“Weevil, were you quitting _for me_?”

“I left some wiggle room. You can draw your own conclusions.”

“What made you think that was okay?”

“Hey, do _you_ wanna go back to selling knockoffs and pot for a creepy old broad?”

Rex shook his head. “But you shouldn’t just assume it.”

“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, Rex. Good night.”

In and of itself, this occurrence was not the first sign of something gone horribly wrong—or, at least, Rex did not recognize it as such, and if Weevil did, he never indicated it to Rex. 

The second sign that something was horribly wrong, as well as the first sign that Rex understood signified horrible wrongness, appeared twenty hours later.

At around midnight, the two of them returned to their room after another day of beach-strolling and evening of gambling. During the day, while the two of them walked through the complex of restaurants beside the wharf, Rex munching on strips of calamari and Weevil eating French fries dipped in a chocolate milkshake, Rex reflected that until now, he had only been kidding himself. Weevil had not just started to look good several months ago; he had _always_ looked good to Rex, ever since they were kids on the ship to Duelist Kingdom. Part of him felt _hopeful_ when he read that yaoi doujinshi those many years ago, as though his friend were not a mere fudanshi but genuinely attracted to men and potentially interested in him. And to have that hope confirmed, as Weevil had done memorably on the first night they—in Rex’s own mental turn of phrase—activated each other’s trap cards, troubled Rex slightly but pleased him much more. Previously, he told himself that some other source—the haze of marijuana, the giddiness of exploring this exotic land, or the thrill of victory upon victory—produced these thoughts; now he knew that his own heart spoke to him with the clarity of crystal. 

He could spend day after day with Weevil, regardless of whether or not they lived those days on this blessed sunlit, surf-kissed, candy-colored coast. They could live in a ramshackle apartment with peeling wallpaper and rats in the cupboards, and Rex would still feel happy. Even if they were nobodies working at the burger joint and the supermarket again, they would be together.

Such dreamy thoughts radiated through Rex’s mind as he and Weevil prepared for bed that night—but not for long.

While Weevil brushed his teeth in the bathroom, Rex added the night’s winnings to the stash under the Gideon Bible in the top drawer of the nightstand. When he closed the drawer and looked closely at the Wyrm above it, he stopped cold.

“Hey, Weevil?”

The sound of toothpaste being spat out and drained down the sink preceded his friend’s reply. “What?”

“Didn’t the Wyrm have red and black eyes when we found it?”

“I think so.”

“Well, now its eyes are red and white.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, come here and look.”

Weevil strode from the bathroom and up to the nightstand. He bent slightly to inspect the statue’s eyes, whereupon he frowned.

“You’re right. It’s got pearly white spots instead of black ones. How did that happen?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

With an eerily noncommittal shrug, Weevil climbed into his bed. “Maybe it’s a trick of the light.”

The overhead lights were turned off, leaving only the bedside lamp to the illuminate the statue, but even this situation hardly seemed like grounds for such an assessment. 

Since he had yet to brush his teeth, Rex allowed himself one midnight snack. On the table sat a bag of powdered doughnuts, open like a blues singer’s mouth wailing a temptation to him. He reached inside the light blue bag and smiled at the white powder that covered the miniature pastry. The sight reminded him of the white powder that would surely result from popping this delight into his mouth.

He sucked and chewed the doughnut with relish and swallowed with eagerness, anticipating more victory powder from the Wyrm. But when he walked up to the nightstand…

Nothing. The space beneath the Wyrm was bare, just a featureless bright yellow surface.

“That’s not right. Well, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but I guess I have to.”

“Wouldn’t have to do what, Rex?”

“Oh. See, I just ate a doughnut, and the Wyrm gives out powder whenever we do something that feels good, but it’s not doing anything right now. So, I was going to see if it’d take my blood again.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Rex pricked the tip of his finger on one of the Wyrm’s fang, the same one he had touched those many nights ago. The brief stinging did not disconcert him at first; the first time he did this, the pain and blood dissipated almost instantly.

This time, however, the pain continued. Blood welled up on Rex’s fingertip and trickled down his hand.

A scream leapt from Rex’s throat before he knew it.

“It didn’t work! I’m still bleeding!” He waved his finger at Weevil.

“So go get a Band-Aid from the bathroom. In case you missed it, it’s right over there,” said Weevil, pointing to the wall next to him. “And take a shower and brush your teeth while you’re in there. You stink.”

“Thanks a lot!” Rex would have liked to stand there and return the volley of insults, but when you bled, you bled. Grumbling, he entered the bathroom and wrapped an adhesive medical strip around his index finger. Then he smote his forehead, remembering that he still had a shower to take. As he shampooed his hair, he reflected that even after taking in Weevil’s callousness, he still felt the same warm glow from the afternoon. If he had less sense, he would have punched the shower wall. How could he want to cuddle up to someone who spoke to him so coldly? It made no sense…but then, did it have to?

Sleep proved less than refreshing. Weevil did not want to engage in an orgasmic bout beforehand, which was just as well, since Rex would have refused it if Weevil asked him. Compounding this feeling of impending doom, Rex’s dreams emphasized the troubling turn his life now took.

In his dream, he wore rock-climbing gear and scaled a mountain made of black obsidian. His pick chipped into the mountain’s side, and as he climbed to the plateau directly overhead, he sensed that he neared the top. 

Panting for breath, he sat down on the small cliff that jutted out from the mountain. Avoiding the dreaded downward glance, he looked straight ahead. Another mountain range loomed ahead, or, in Rex’s case, behind, surrounded by palm trees burdened with coconuts. The sky shone not blue but a vivid pink, under-girded by orange and purple. Somewhere in the distance, a rumble reverberated through the air.

Sitting there admiring the view, Rex nearly neglected to notice the _Rhamphorynchus_ that landed beside him.

“Whoa!” he said, scooting over. “I almost didn’t see you, little fella.”

The _Rhamphorynchus_ opened its beak and said in a parrot-like voice, “You know what to do.”

“What? No, I don’t. What are you talking about?”

“Oh, but you do know. You are in grave danger. The only thing to do is destroy the Wyrm before it destroys you and your friend. It is already destroying him. Either he has to destroy it or you do, and right now, you stand the better chance.”

Rex furrowed his brow. “How is it doing that?”

“The Wyrm has burrowed inside his heart as the Other God whose image he carries with him would burrow through the tunnels of Hyperborea. The Wyrm had tunneled into your heart, too, but now the beast has left.”

At last, Rex had confirmation of his suspicions. “Why does the Wyrm still work for Weevil and not me?”

The pterosaur paused to snap at a beetle flying overhead, but the intended snack flew away just in time. “Your friend occupies your heart now. When he crawled in, the Wyrm crawled out.”

To allay his fears, Rex let himself wonder if there was a sort of nesting-doll phenomenon at work. “If the Wyrm’s in his heart, and he’s in my heart, then is the Wyrm technically in my heart too?”

“No. Another person _or_ the Wyrm may be in someone’s heart, but not both.”

Rex swore. Whatever this meant, it would not be good for him.

The _Rhamphorynchus_ nudged him with its beak. “One more thing before I go. Remember that a loving heart is not the same as a kind heart. A loving heart repels the Wyrm, but a kind heart seals it out completely. You must let— _ack_!” 

Instead of concluding its sentence, the pterosaur clutched the sides of its head with its webbed fingers. Its body shook and bobbed back and forth. Rearing its head back, the _Rhamphorynchus_ opened its jaws and screamed like an injured seagull. The sound made Rex’s stomach start to turn over.

What happened next made his heart sink as well. Another voice issued from the pterosaur’s beak, and this voice sounded like a war screech from the legions of Hell.

“ _We know what you’ve done! You have profaned our god! Return the Wyrm or suffer!_ ” 

Speechlessly, Rex watched as the _Rhamphorynchus_ gave one final squawk, fell off the ledge, and plummeted to the ground.

* * *

The southern California sun penetrated the windows just as expected the following morning, but to Rex, the air seemed dark and heavy. Groggily, he struggled to sit up in bed. Opening his eyes fully revealed that Weevil sat at the table, eating a lemon poppyseed muffin. Yellow crumbs spilled from his mouth and onto a paper towel.

“Weevil, I had the weirdest, creepiest dream last night.”

The other nerd swallowed. “Come up here and eat your bacon, then tell me about it.”

Rex obeyed him. With the taste of cold, greasy bacon still fresh in his mouth, he told Weevil about the strange and ominous portents of last night’s journey into the subconscious.

“The flying reptile in your dream told you that we had to destroy the Wyrm?” Weevil had finished his first muffin and started on another one.

“Yeah. It sounds crazy, but I think it was right.”

Moist laughter rang from Weevil’s throat. “It _does_ sound crazy!”

“I didn’t even get to the creepiest part. The _Rhamphorynchus_ was telling me about…a loving heart, and something took over its body.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it started choking, and then this hideous voice came out of it and said that ‘they knew what we’d done.’ It said we’d suffer if we didn’t return the Wyrm.”

To pause Rex’s speech, Weevil held up one finger and continued chewing the bits of muffin in his mouth. When he swallowed again, he said, “First it told you to destroy the Wyrm, but then it said to return it?”

“No, the _Rhamphorynchus_ said to destroy the Wyrm. The thing that took over its body said to return it.”

“Relax, Dino-brain. The Wyrm may just respond to me, but I’ll still share the powder with you.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Come on, Rex, don’t pretend to be modest. You’re just jealous that the Wyrm only works for me now.”

Rex gripped the side of the table. “I mean it, Weevil! I know what I dreamt! It was clear as a bell. Out of all the weird things we’ve seen on this trip, you won’t believe that I had a dream telling me that we had to destroy the Wyrm?”

Weevil bit into his muffin. After popping his food to one side of his mouth, he replied, “I’ll believe a lot of things, but I _won’t_ believe that something that’s brought us nothing but good should be destroyed. Now….” He looked in the nightstand’s direction, and a teeth-baring grin crossed his face.

“I’ll get my due, and you’ll get your allowance.”

Rex sighed. What else could he do but agree? What seemed like the perfect opportunity to ensure their relationship remained egalitarian had just tipped the balance back towards Weevil again.

Nonetheless, as the next several days passed, Rex had to admit that this arrangement could be much worse. Both he and Weevil would eat their breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks with gusto, and less frequently, they would snake their hands down one another’s trousers for a quick feel, just as the two of them did before, even if the Wyrm produced only half the amount of powder it once did. Because Weevil split the powder with Rex, each of them had to make do with a quarter of the powder quantity he used to use, but their winning streak continued unabated. If nothing else, when Rex asked for some of the powder from Weevil, he would hand it over, no questions asked. 

…Until one evening, when they exited the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach. Patting the interior of his pockets, Rex realized that they were devoid of powder.

“Hey, Weevil, aren’t we going out gambling? I need some powder to win tonight.”

Weevil made no move except to smirk at him.

“That’s just too bad, Rex.”

“ _What_?”

“You heard me. If the Wyrm wanted you to use it anymore, it would give you powder on demand. But it doesn’t. It’s chosen _me_ as its master. It’s mine, not yours!”

Rex curled his hands into fists. 

“I don’t believe this! We were gonna keep riding this wave forever! When you quit Cutcliffe’s, you were including me, too! Why would you do that unless you thought we were gonna be here together for a really long time? Don’t you tell me that _you’re_ gonna keep gallivanting in Hollywood, but _I_ have to haul myself back to that old witch’s place and beg to hock bootleg stuff again!”

The delayed response—high, mocking laughter that rose slowly from Weevil’s chest—chilled Rex’s bones.

“No, I didn’t want to do that to you. I had other things in mind to do to you.”

This conversation did not sound appropriate for a public place, especially one with tourists milling around. He wanted to ask what Weevil meant, but the answer came unbidden.

“I’m the Wyrm’s master now. And whoever masters the Wyrm can master anything”—he poked Rex in the chest—“and _anyone_ they want.”

Sweat beaded out of Rex’s pores. Weevil’s finger still thrust into his chest. Rex’s audible gulp evidently made Weevil’s teeth-flashing smirk widen.

“Don’t look so scared, Rex. You won’t be deprived. I’ll still give you some of the money that I win. But the Wyrm only works for one of us, and he’s not you.”

Any words Rex might have spoken evaporated in his mouth. Weevil raised his hand from Rex’s chest and started to cup his chin.

He brought Rex’s face closer to his. “Ooh, I can tell what mood you’re in. What say we clear the schedule tonight, if you know what I mean?”

Apparently Weevil knew him too well. There was hardly a time when he didn't desire his best friend's touch, and this moment was no exception. Rex felt himself growing warmer than the heat of the southern California sun could explain.

"Uh- _huh_ ," said Rex.

And so Weevil ended the embarrassment by doing exactly as he said he would. The night that ensued proved to be no worse or better than usual—whatever Weevil ordered done to him, he reciprocated on Rex, just as they always did.

At the same time, Rex wondered if any part of their activities that night indicated something unusual. Nothing was wrong with the acts themselves or the way they were requested, but still, it wasn't like Weevil to initiate sex in so spontaneous or abrupt a manner.

This encounter, however, was the _only_ change that left Rex with any sense of ambivalence. Every other change, starting the next day, was indisputably for the worse. Minus the knocking about, Weevil was now every bit as bad as he used to be, even if the two of them were still groping each other at night. If Rex slept in later than Weevil wanted him to, Weevil would throw a pillow in his face and snap at him to wake up. When they went shopping for food, Rex had to carry the groceries back to their hotel room. Rex noticed that he had comparatively less say in how they spent their day before Weevil dragged him to the casinos than he did last week; if Weevil wanted to go to the movies while Rex wanted to go to the park, they went to the movies.

Somehow, though, Rex, in his devotion, thought he could cope with all of this malarkey without snapping—except for the added factor of the unsolicited mental messages.

_You have slain our totem’s guardian. You have discovered our most highly guarded secret. You have defiled the sacredness of our god. Both you and your friend must suffer._

These messages played like top forty hits in Rex’s mind for days on end. Combined with Weevil’s bossing him around, Rex could feel himself about to do something drastic.

It was when he told the truth about these unwanted psychic incursions that he finally did.

“You gotta believe me,” Rex said to Weevil as they ate a meal of Chinese food—brown rice and vegetables for the latter and chicken chow mein for the former—at their room table. “These voices keep telling me that I’ve done a bunch of bad stuff and I’m gonna pay for it.”

“Do they also tell you to set things on fire? Sounds like you need therapy, Rex!” He chortled.

“Therapy? I’m serious! It’s the same thing, day after day. They keep saying I’ve ‘profaned their god.’ I don’t know what to do about ‘em, and they’re scaring the daylights out of me. And you know what else they say? They’re blaming you, too! They say you’re gonna suffer like me.”

Something about what happened next, to Rex’s way of thinking, was both funny and sick. For years, he had heard that people found Weevil’s laugh his worst feature. No matter what else they had to say about him, and it usually wasn’t good, people cited his laughter as what sickened them the most about Weevil. Rex never understood what they meant. 

Tonight, he heard what other people heard in Weevil’s laughter: an expression of disgusted contempt that was itself disgusting and contemptible.

“Hee hee hee! Come off it, Dino-brain! You really are crazy if you’re hearing voices, and you’re even crazier if you think I’ll believe when you say that we have suffering coming our way.”

Rex slammed his fists on the table, making the food jump slightly.

“For the love of Godzilla, Weevil! You’ve seen that statue drool out magic powder when you eat. You’ve seen a sexless weirdo breathe smoke that changes color. You’ve seen a girl levitate up to the ceiling and walk on walls. But you won’t believe me when I say that I’ve been hearing messages telling me that we’re gonna be in for a world of hurt because of the Wyrm?”

An infuriating smile followed the infuriating laugh. “Nope! I don’t!”

Rex stood up and left his plate on the table.

“If you’re gonna keep treating me like this, I’m leaving.”

“Hmph. Where to? And how will you get there?”

“I’ll find another hotel someplace else. And I’m taking half the money from our stash.” 

Weevil opened his mouth, and Rex held up his hand to silence him.

“You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I put in as much effort finding the Wyrm as you did; I deserve half the money we got from using it. I don’t care if you are its ‘master’—if you can even call yourself that. Oh, you’re something to that thing, but I don’t think it’s a master!” He stomped into the bathroom, opened the cabinet under the sink, and ripped out all the cash taped to the top of the cabinet. When he came back into the bedroom, Weevil was sitting on his bed, folding the Wyrm beneath his crossed arms. 

“Get out, then,” he hissed, in a much lower voice than usual. “Get your things and leave.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” Packing took slightly longer than Rex anticipated, given that he felt the need to include the gadgets he had brought with him for the original heist on the Wyrm in his suitcase. Still, he made his way to the door in a few minutes.

Though his expression did not change, Weevil got up and walked over to Rex, who was opening the door.

“You’re going out in Los Angeles during the middle of the night?”

“I’ll take my chances out there.”

The door swung open, and Rex walked to the other side of it. Finally, he faced Weevil for what he thought might be the last time.

“Goodbye, Weevil.”

For some reason, Rex could not bring himself to slam the door shut. He closed it with a gentle _click_ , and then he walked on down the hall.

* * *

Checking out of the hotel took some explaining, but eventually Rex was sitting at a table for one in a local meat-lovers’ restaurant. “Gimme the biggest, meatiest, juiciest sandwich you’ve got,” he had said to the waiter, and the waiter had returned with a massive slow-roasted pork sandwich that Rex had to hold with both hands. To the left of the plate, which also contained a fried pickle, sat a half-full glass of beer, Rex’s second of the night. 

He lifted the sandwich to his mouth and chomped into another mouthful of pork, barbecue sauce, bread, and grease. The savory, smoky flavors mingled between his tongue and palate with every bite. Swallowing almost disappointed him; he wished he could keep chewing that sandwich bite all night. To wash it all down, Rex took a swig of his pale ale. 

When he set the glass down, one of the voices spoke again.

_Tonight may be your last night alive, Rex Raptor._

In that instant, he felt an immense gladness that he had just swallowed his drink.

_Your enemies know your whereabouts and your friend’s whereabouts. Your friend has not destroyed the Wyrm, and he too is in the greatest peril he has ever faced. The Wyrm can and must be destroyed, but you have missed your chance not to suffer. Now you must go through your trials first._

Suddenly, his hunger dissipated, but he tore into his sandwich nonetheless. Physical indulgence could distract him from impending doom, could it not?

Even though it technically could, Rex found that it did not.

Later, he paid his check and left the meat house. He leaned against the building and wished he could see the stars blocked by the artificial lights. Perhaps it was time to go to the beach. Yes, go to the beach and gaze at the starry night; forget about his “trials;” his enemies would not look for him there….

On his way there, he heard footsteps pounding the pavement behind him.

“Rex! Rex! _Rex_!”

_Seriously? Has he not learned his lesson?_

With an exasperated sigh, Rex turned around, and sure enough, there was Weevil running towards him. What Rex did not expect to see was Weevil hauling his backpack and suitcase with the Wyrm under his arm.

“What are you doing here? You want more slave labor from me?”

Panting, Weevil replied, “No. I came to tell you….” He took a deep breath and then exhaled. “I started hearing the voices, too.”

For all that Rex had left Weevil on his own for laughing at the anguish these voices caused, part of him wanted to believe that the messages _were_ laughable, that they were just his imagination. Now he broke out in a cold sweat.

“It’s true,” continued Weevil. “It’s all true! They said we both might die tonight. They said we had to destroy the Wyrm, but we could only do it after we’d suffered. And they said something else: ‘fire is its own element.’”

“‘Fire is its own element'? What, is it like the fire cards in Duel Monsters?”

“I don’t know! The voices didn’t say. But I know it’s all true now; it’s all true….” Tears began to gather in his eyes. 

“Don’t cry. Let’s see if we can destroy the Wyrm before we suffer.”

A third voice pierced their conversation. “Sorry, fellas, but you can’t!”

No. It couldn’t be. Oh, no, no, no, no….

It _was_. The dealer from Nefertiti’s Retreat, the first person either of them had beaten with the Wyrm’s powder, was standing in front of them. 

_Well, time to get the suffering out of the way._

Before Weevil could cling to him, Rex stepped in front of him and thrust his deck out of his pocket.

“Oh, yeah? I’ll duel you!”

Rather than whip out his own deck of cards, the dealer produced a bludgeon from his jacket. He flicked a button, and what looked like bright purple electricity ran around the metallic-looking club.

“Punk, you’re about to learn that not everyone resolves conflicts by playing card games.”

A burst of glowing, crackling red-violet energy seared through Rex’s awareness—and then everything went black.

* * *

When Rex regained his consciousness, he noticed an unpleasantly hard surface beneath him. Was it the concrete he had been standing on? No matter how weary he was, this was no time to lie down on the job. He tried to turn over and raise himself up with his arms…

But his arms and legs were locked in iron shackles attached to an upward-tilting stone slab.

“What? Oh my gawd, where am I? Help!”

He surveyed his surroundings. From where he lay, he saw a Duel Ring, which was nothing out of the ordinary, but the location of this arena made him turn pale. Gray stone walls hung with scarlet drapes bearing the image of golden pyramids girdled by snakes. Other chains, one of which terminated in a collar that could have closed around a large dog’s throat, lay slumping from the uncovered surfaces of the walls. Then he saw implements hanging on a wall-mounted rack: several daggers, a pair of long swords, and what appeared to be a handheld pizza cutter with sharp serrated edges. Adding to the unpleasant sight were unpleasant sounds: something large and heavy trod the space beneath the stone floor, causing a rattling sensation.

But he had little time to wonder what might be making the noise. A hand squeezed him on the shoulder, and Rex sucked in a scream and flinched.

“You’re awake. Good.”

The dealer smirked at him.

“My boss is about to get here. Then we’ll have some real fun.”

“You have my permission to have fun, Daddy,” said a woman who entered the room immediately. She crossed the room and stood beside the dealer.

Pink eye shadow surrounded her big, bright, almost childlike eyes, and pink lipstick smeared her lips. Across her shoulders lay draped a powdery pink chinchilla, and a bright pink ankle-length dress hugged her body. Beneath the dress’s hem peeked the tips of seashell-pink pumps, and a pair of pale pink earrings dangled from her ears. And around her neck….

“Is that a necklace made of pangolin scales dyed pink? You’re sick, lady!” 

The dealer tweaked his ear. “Don’t sass her, cocksucker.”

“Now, now,” said the Pink Pangolin. “There’s no need for that kind of naughty language yet. Even if it is true.”

“You might think you can torture me, you creeps, but just you wait until my friend gets here! You’ll be sorry!”

“Your ‘friend,’ as you call him, ran and hid like a coward. He’s never coming back for you. Nevah, _evah_!” said Pink, who stuck out her tongue at him.

“That’s not true! He cares for me, and he’ll make you regret you ever laid a finger on me!”

The dealer folded his arms and laughed.

“Is that what you think? Gawd, you’re dumber than you look. If he cared about you, you wouldn’t be here right now. He saved his own hide and left you behind.”

Was this what the Wyrm had brought them to? Had they really become so evil that they cared nothing for anyone, even each other? That could not be true in Rex’s case; even after the antagonism he had given and received during their earlier interactions, he still felt his heart pound with delight when he remembered all the moments they had shared, from strolling through Battle City together to the meals they had shared to their mutual virginity loss. Then had the Wyrm only affected Weevil and left Rex just as he was? Or was Weevil always that venal and Rex simply too blinded by desperation for friendship to notice? Perhaps it was a mistake ever to get involved with Weevil in the first place; Rex would have done better to remain a complete loner than to tag along with the bug nerd’s cockamamie plots. Look what they had done to him. He was in this dungeon, awaiting torture, because the one person in the world he thought was his friend decided to save himself and leave Rex to suffer.

His throat tightened. Tears began to well up in his eyes and stream down his face. Nothing mattered if he truly had no friends in the world. If he begged, maybe his captors would allow him a swift death. 

“You’re crying when the torture has barely begun. You must miss that faithless traitor,” said the dealer. “How sweet.”

“Aw, it’s _adorable_ ,” added Pink in a high-pitched voice. “He misses his friendy-wendy!” Her voice lowered to a mature tone. “Well, I’ve got news for you, lover boy. We won’t kill you just yet.”

The torturer raised the psychic stun gun he had used to knock out Rex and pointed it at him. “Don’t think, just because your partner abandoned you, that he’s not going to fall into our clutches real soon. When we get a hold of him, we’re gonna torture him, too, and we’ll make you watch!”

“No! You won’t get your hands on him! He’s smarter than that! He’ll escape before you can make him suffer!” He tried to writhe, but the chains bound him fast.

The pink-clad queenpin laughed. “Nooo, he’s gonna be huwt awful bad!” she chirped. Then she thrust her hand on her hip and smiled evilly. “Protest all you like,” she said in her adult voice, “but you’re helpless. No one will miss either of you. Your partner is a low-down worm, and so are you. Now, Daddy?”

The torturer pressed his glowing implement to Rex’s temple, and Rex screamed at the burning sensation that instantly seared against his skin. In one merciful second, the rod pulled away.

“Hmm. You know, Daddy,” said Pink. “Perhaps you should try a more…persuasive method.”

If Rex had nerve enough to speak, he would have asked if a “more persuasive method” meant a form of torture with a greater potential for death. Instead, he slumped in his shackles. 

_Can’t…think…._

He had barely enough time to register his non-thought. A burst of white and violet electricity leapt from the dealer’s hand, and the crackling energy shocked Rex from head to foot. There was one brief instant of agony, and suddenly Rex was somewhere else.

That somewhere else was an open field not green with grass but brown with earth. Waving ferns, towering trees, and expanding corpse lilies provided most of the color, the main exceptions comprising the bright pink sky and the row of mountains in the distance. 

He looked at his body to see that red feathery wings tipped with black covered his forearms, which ended in sets of pointed white claws. His feet were likewise red, feathered, and clawed. He tried to turn his neck to look at his shoulders and found them fuzzy and tufted. To confirm his suspicions, he flicked his tail on the ground.

 _I’m a_ Troodon.

Trying to accustom himself to his new legs, he walked and then ran through the field, stumbling a little as he gained speed but never falling. Rats and shrews squeaked and scurried out of his way when they saw him approach.

In a moment, he discovered that he was not alone. Another _Troodon_ ran up to him from behind a tree and called out that he was going the wrong way. With its head, it motioned him to follow it.

He ran behind the new specimen to join a small pack of other _Troodon_. Rex expected that an introduction would be required, but they all evidently knew who he was, for the leader of the pack, the largest _Troodon_ , simply waited to get her group’s attention before barking at a _Triceratops_ lumbering several yards away.

Instinctively, Rex sped alongside his brethren. The _Triceratops_ bellowed at them and tried to make a break for it, but two _Troodon_ flanked the herbivore on either side and slashed at its flesh. The head _Troodon_ sprang upon her prey’s back and ripped off some of its flesh with her teeth, exposing a small portion of the spine to the air. The _Triceratops_ shouted in pain and shook to rid itself of the pack’s leader, but as the herbivore reared its head back, Rex spotted a perfect opening.

He lunged forward and sank his teeth into its scaly neck, and the _Triceratops_ vocalized no more. The leader of the pack jumped off their kill’s back as it toppled to the ground. She shrieked her jubilation to the group and announced their imminent suppertime.

Along with his comrades, Rex tore into the meat of the fallen ceratopsian. 

_What is this, a planet where dinosaurs evolved from men? No, I’m the only man here; the rest are all really dinosaurs. Or are they? Whatever. The meat tastes good, at least._ He pulled his head out of the ceratopsian’s belly for another look at his fellows.

The leader of the pack, who ate beside him, raised her head from the herbivore’s corpse and gazed at Rex with an uncomfortably intimate look in her eye. If this therapod was the matriarch of this pack, was he her consort? Did she expect him to mate with her? Though his mind occupied a dinosaur’s body, he was still human, and the thought of swapping biological information with this female dromaeosaurid made him freeze—as did the possibility that she would not accept refusal. And those claws and teeth—oh, those claws and teeth, still dripping with blood.

He wanted to bolt across the field and find a nice, dense jungle to hide in. Before he began his sprint, however, the _Troodon_ matriarch changed shape in front of him.

Her body waved and shifted until it was the form of a middle-aged woman. Wavy black hair streaked with gray fell to her shoulders. She wore khaki shorts and a sleeveless white top, and for some reason, her skin shone green in the Cretaceous sunlight.

By now, Rex had learned not to ask questions about incongruous, inexplicable occurrences in his life. This bit of bizarreness, however, might be his last, and so there was one question he had no choice but to ask.

“Am I dead?” He supposed it was impossible for his _Troodon_ jaw to utter words, but again, asking other questions was pointless.

Instead of opening her mouth to speak, the green-skinned woman _thought_ at him.

_Nay, Rex Raptor, you are not dead, and you shall not die tonight._

“I’m not? What do you mean?”

 _Some things have to die—because it is their time, like all living things after a certain age, or because of bad luck, like most of the dinosaurs, or because they do not deserve existence, like…_ She trailed off and looked him intently in the eye, as though expecting him to finish her sentence.

“Like the Wyrm of the Wastelands.”

_Yes. The Wyrm is nothing more or less than a tainting presence. It should have died. And yet, for millennia, it has lived, corrupting soul after soul. That corruption is not inevitable. Some hearts are easier to sway than others, but all human hearts have at least a shard of kindness in them. That shard may grow into a crystal, a prism, a shining jewel, if only you make the choice to evolve._

“The choice to evolve?”

_You will evolve and thrive. You must. You must._

“I must evolve and thrive,” he repeated. “Hey, if you’re so smart, can you tell me why the Wyrm stopped working for me before it stopped working for Weevil?”

_An invertebrate is a baser, viler thing than a dinosaur, is it not?_

“Well, yeah. I dunno what you mean, though, spiders are pretty—”

The woman raised her hand to cut him off. _He required more…transformation. A metamorphosis, you might say. But you will both evolve and thrive._

Then she dematerialized, as did everything else around him.

 _Evolve and thrive, evolve and thrive, evolve and thrive_ rang throughout Rex’s mind as he returned to consciousness.


	7. Chapter Six: Weevil Does Something Selfless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter comes in a week after the previous update. Once you read it, you will see what took so long. Can you tell that I don't know how to play the Yu-Gi-Oh card game or drive?

_And I never see the sudden curve 'til it's way too late._  
—Meat Loaf, "Bat out of Hell"  


“What the hell are you doing to my _friend_?”

Rex awoke to the sound of that familiar raspy screech. Could it be…?

“It is! Oh, Weevil, it _is_ you!”

Weevil staggered through the torture chamber’s doorway and into the room, panting more heavily than he had when running after Rex earlier that night. His backpack slumped off his shoulders, bruises dotted his face, and he held a large bloodstained knife in his hand. He wielded it as if to thrust it into his foes’ hearts.

The dealer turned away from Rex and made a clawing motion with his hand, which began to glow with a pale blue light. Weevil’s hand opened and dropped the knife.

“Wha—” Weevil gaped at his knife and bent down to retrieve it, but he spontaneously formed a fist and punched himself in the teeth—and then in the nose—and then in the forehead.

Rex cringed at the sight of his friend wobbling and struggling to maintain his balance. 

“So you did come back for your friend,” said the dealer. “Wouldn’t have thought a coward like you had it in ya! But this is the last time you’ll ever see him.” 

As Weevil toppled to the floor, landing with a hard crack and a squeal of pain, the dealer laughed. 

“I could make you punch yourself in the glasses and stab your eyes out,” he said. “I could make you strangle yourself. I could make you cut your throat open with that knife of yours.”

Pink pressed a finger to his lips.

“That wouldn’t be decorous, Daddy. Let’s do something else.” 

The dealer gave a disappointed sigh. “If you say so, ma’am.”

His boss pressed her hands together in a mock display of romantic admiration. “How _cuuuute_!” she said in her babyish tone. “You showed up to _wescue_ your fwiend!” She folded her arms and lowered her voice by several octaves. “It’s too late. He’s already been tortured.”

From his prone position on the floor, Weevil raised his head and shoulders up to see Rex. Rex wondered what he looked like from that vantage point. Certainly, he felt sore all over, with specific burning points in his upper stomach and chest and constrictions around his wrists and ankles. Did he bear the signs of torture, however? Psychic weapons gave him no clue.

Whatever he looked like, though, it must have been different from usual. The tears that Weevil threatened to cry when he last spoke to Rex now spilled from his eyes and onto the floor.

Rex knew that for all his spiteful bluster, Weevil was a crybaby at heart. Usually, he cried out of self-pity or extreme frustration more than anything else; there was, more often than not, a touch of indulgence when his friend wept. But this was a sight Rex had never seen before: his one and only friend in the world, the friend who had used him selfishly and then run contritely back to him, sobbing for compassion’s sake. 

Then, Weevil’s frame stopped shaking with sobs. As he picked up his knife and pushed himself to his feet, his countenance turned to a scowl, and he shook with anger instead.

“I’ll _kill_ you!” He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. He charged towards the dealer, who chucklingly waved his hand and bound Weevil’s body in a sudden tangle of glowing blue ropes.

While a cringing Rex watched Weevil struggle in the ethereal cords that tied him up, the dealer spoke again.

“Wriggle all you like, but you won’t break out.” 

Pink turned to him and smiled.

“This just isn’t going anywhere, Daddy. We should do something else.”

“Good idea. I _could_ make him use that knife of his to kill his friend and then himself.”

Rex felt himself growing faint again. _They’d definitely do that…oh, Weevil, why didn’t I tell you how I felt before we let things get this far? Before that Wyrm made you its slave? Now we’ll never be—_

Her next sentence cut his thought short.

“No, that would be too easy. It would end too quickly. We need more drama, more entertainment before they die, wouldn’t you say? I was thinking that we’d give this one”—she pointed to Weevil, who tried to bite at the ropes around his shoulders—"more of…a fighting chance, if you will.” She winked at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh. Ha ha! This’ll be more of a challenge…but not too much more!” The dealer snapped his fingers, and the psychic ropes around Weevil's body disappeared.

“What are you talking about, you scumbags? Let us out!” Weevil said.

After he returned the wink, the dealer crossed the room and pressed a button, which Rex had not noticed earlier, on the wall. A row of stone panels on either side of the Duel Ring began to slide apart and open up….

Against his better judgement but in the utmost obedience to his whims, Rex looked down from his slab. 

Beneath the floor of the torture chamber lay another dungeon. This one contained not torture implements—at least, none that Rex could see—but a pair of giant lizards almost identical to the one that attacked him and Weevil on the night they stole the Wyrm. They differed from that lizard by dint of size. The one that tried to burn them to a crisp those nights ago was perhaps the size of a cow. These two reptiles were the size of elephants. They paced their torch-lit cell, every now and then looking up and snapping at the humans above. 

Not for the first time that night, Rex screamed at the sight. Weevil, who had been glancing to his side since the floor began to open, joined him.

After her captives had screamed themselves nearly hoarse, Pink explained the situation.

“These are our king and queen lizards. You thieves killed their babies! And for that, plus for profaning the sacred Wyrm, you must pay. But since it moves me _sooo_ much to see you try to rescue your friend”—she pointed to Weevil, who was still shaking as he looked down at the lizards—"and it wouldn’t be as much fun to give you a quick death, I’ve given you a choice.”

“A choice?” Weevil had ceased quivering. “What kind of choice?”

“It’s like this: you _can_ just walk away if you want.”

“I can? What’s the catch?”

“If you leave, we’ll kill your friend and feed him to the lizards. _Or_ …you can duel me. If you win, both you and your friend can leave. But if you lose, we’ll feed _you_ to the lizards and give your life as an offering to the Wyrm. And who knows what’ll happen to your friend?”

Rex had heard of high-stakes games before. He knew all too well about people taking Duel Monsters too seriously. If he were not one of those people himself, he would have gotten into much less trouble during earlier parts of his life. But this was like nothing he had experienced. 

Weevil stiffened before Rex’s eyes. “You’re _sick_! What is this? I’ve been involved in some screwed-up stuff before, but this beats them all!”

 _That’s just what I was thinking_ , thought Rex.

“What’ll it be?” Pink pursed her lips at Weevil. “You live and he dies, or you risk dying so he might live?”

“Hmph. What kind of choice is that? I’ll take you on! You don’t know who you’re dealing with, lady!”

Pink emitted a girlish little laugh. “You think so? You might be surprised. Now, let’s get started.”

Weevil and Pink took their places on either side of the arena and produced their decks from their pockets. The dealer took a place beside Rex and nudged his upper arm with his elbow, making Rex flinch.

“Ain’t you gonna watch this, punk?”  
“If he dies, I’m gonna die, too. It’s kind of in my best interest to see what happens,” he said with a groan.

“Ha! True! But you’re gonna be real disappointed.” 

“Why do you say that? Your boss doesn’t have the Wyrm, so she can’t rely on its powder. This duel should be a test of pure skill.”

“Is that what you think? Just watch and wait.”

Up on the Duel Ring, Pink pointed past Weevil. “Look behind you. See those four squares of floor between you and the lizard pit?”

Hanging from his slab, Rex counted and saw that there were, indeed, a mere four blocks of floor space separating Weevil from his death. He noted that there were only six such squares between his dangling feet and the hungry monsters, which continued to snap their jaws from time to time.

“Every time either of us loses life points, part of the floor will crumble away. Whoever’s life points get down to zero first will be bucked off the Duel Ring and fall down the pit.”

“This is like something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story!” said Weevil. “Are you always this morbid?”

“Are you always this obnoxious?” the dealer interjected. He directed his next statement at Pink. “Beat this chump and feed him to the lizards so we can get on with our lives!” 

“Who’s the boss around here?” Pink shot back.

The dealer looked sheepish. “Sorry, ma’am. I forgot myself.”

She snorted and returned her attention to her opponent. “Anyway, let’s get this over with. Since I’m being nice tonight, I’ll let you go first.”

“Fine, then. I’ll play Skull-Mark Ladybug in defense mode.”

A large black ladybug with a skull pattern on its wings appeared on Weevil’s side of the field.

“Make your move, you poaching old bag!”

“Don’t think you can get under my skin by calling me old. Anyone who starts off on the defensive can’t be much of a duelist. I play Pyramid Turtle in attack mode.”

A great brown-scaled tortoise wearing a colorful Egyptian headdress and a pyramid in place of a shell showed up and stared down the crouching ladybug.

“Pyramid Turtle, attack his ladybug!”

The tortoise lumbered over to the Skull-Mark Ladybug and shattered it with one swipe of its claws.

Weevil cackled. “You think I’m scared? Destroying Skull-Mark Ladybug just gave me a thousand extra life points!”

 _So he wanted to start out with a life point advantage. Well done, pal_ , thought Rex, though an inner voice told him that that would not be enough to save his friend.

The Pink Pangolin began to growl but stopped herself. “You won’t have those for long, boy.”

“Oh, yeah? Let’s see about that. I summon Armored Bee in attack mode!”

On Weevil’s side of the field appeared a large bee with an armor-clad upper half and swollen, protuberant lower body. 

“Armored Bee already has enough attack points to crush your turtle, but I equip it with Insect Armor with Laser Cannon!”

A harness studded with spikes on its chest and shoulder pads and surmounted by a shining cannon clung to Armored Bee’s upper body.

“Insect Armor with Laser Cannon raises Armored Bee’s attack by seven hundred points! Go! Sting that turtle!”

In a flash of laser, the Armored Bee disposed of the Pyramid Turtle, and an entire floor stone and the beginning of another farther away from Pink’s side of the Duel Ring crumbled into pieces and fell into the pit, where they landed with a series of clinking noises. The lizards uttered some low grumbles at this intrusion into their lair.

“Now you’re down by eleven hundred life points!” Weevil boasted.

“I know how to count, punk,” said the Pink Pangolin. “I summon Dragon Zombie in attack mode!”

On Pink’s side of the field appeared an undead purple dragon with rotting flesh and blank white eyes. It snorted at the bee creature across from it.

Weevil pushed up his glasses. “Wait, you said you _knew_ how to count.”

“I do.”

“Then why’d you summon a monster weaker than mine?”

“You’ll see. Go on and attack.”

“Not just yet. I summon Arsenal Bug in attack mode!”

Next to the Armored Bee, a red, yellow, and green insect with a crescent-shaped head wielding a curved sword and a spiked shield poised itself for battle.

“And I place this magic card face down. Arsenal Bug, attack her Dragon Zombie!”

The armored fly buzzed across the field and sliced Dragon Zombie’s head off with its scimitar.

“That was too easy!” Weevil snickered.

The tension finally built up too much intensity for Rex. “There might be a reason for that!”

The dealer squeezed Rex’s upper arm, making him cry out in pain. “Hush. You want to be fed to the lizards right now?”

“No….”

“Then shut up and keep watching the duel. Don’t give him any more advice.” The dealer released his grip on Rex.

Pink offered no comment on her henchman’s words. Instead, she announced, “I summon Goblin Zombie in defense mode.”

A vaguely humanoid-looking creature with red eyes and a white skeleton-like structure over midnight-black skin crouched on the battlefield, crossing its sword over its chest.

“Come on, lady,” Weevil said with a snort. “Can’t you do better than that? Arsenal Bug, attack!”

The sword-wielding fly slashed through the defending Goblin Zombie. 

The Pink Pangolin’s face remained unchanged as she looked at the field. “I’ll pass this turn.”

“And to think I was afraid I might die in this duel!” Weevil cackled as he drew his next card. “I had a harder time in Pegasus’s regional championship, and I was fourteen then! You keep making mistake after mistake!”

“No, you’ll find that it’s you who keeps making the mistakes,” said Pink. 

Rex felt his heart palpitate. _What if she’s not bluffing?_ He wanted desperately to suggest as much to Weevil, but one look at the dealer’s grinning face told him to maintain his silence—as well as to go with the sinking feeling in his gut.

That feeling remained even as Weevil’s face lit up at the sight of the new card in his hand. “Hee hee hee! Time to meet your doom! I tribute Arsenal Bug to bring forth…the Insect Queen!”

The fly-like insect disappeared. In its place emerged a giant brown-and-blue spider with feminine face and breasts in pale green. Antennae jutted from the arthropod’s disconcertingly human-like head, though nothing about its fangs carried any suggestion of the human.

“And, since there’s an additional insect monster on the field, Insect Queen gains two hundred attack points, making her attack twenty-four hundred! Let’s see you beat that!” He pointed at the Pink Pangolin as if to taunt her.

For a moment, Pink said nothing. Then she began to laugh—a high, shrill laugh that Rex could tell mocked Weevil even more than his own laughter had ever mocked anything or anyone else.

“Oh, you walked right into that. I was gonna wait until a little later to bring this out, but with you playing that card and daring me like that, it’s just perfect.”

“What do you mean, you crazy lady?”

“You have a queen in your deck? So do I. And it’s time for a war between royals. Come out from your crypt, Nitocris!”

For the second time since Rex and Weevil faced opponents in southern California, the mummy woman with the half-eaten face materialized before them. Rex expected Weevil to declare dismissively that Nitocris was nothing more than a pretender to the Insect Queen’s throne, power his own monster up accordingly, and wipe out the reigning ghoul. 

He was mistaken. 

“What the—?” said Weevil, who had lost all traces of a smile. “That thing had twenty-four hundred attack points the last time I saw it! Now it has three thousand!”

Rex felt his blood turn cold.

“All it takes to summon Nitocris,” said Pink, “is for _either_ player to have even one monster in the graveyard. And she’s not an Insect Queen rip-off, ‘cause the Insect Queen can only draw power from other insect monsters on the field. Nitocris can gain attack points from zombie monsters on the field, but for every monster I have in the graveyard, she _also_ gets an extra two hundred attack points. You destroyed three of my monsters, so you boosted her attack by six hundred points, more than enough to take out your Insect Queen in one shot. And that’s exactly what I’m about to do. Nitocris, Carrion Claws!”

With its long, pointy talons, the Ghoul Queen slashed the Insect Queen to smithereens, taking six hundred of Weevil’s life points with it. Over half of the floor stone farthest away from Weevil broke off and crumbled into the lizard pit.

Weevil sank to his knees, and Rex’s heart went with him. The arthropod specialist pounded his fist into the cabinet of his console.

As her opponent trembled in despair, Pink giggled and began to speak. “Don’t you see that the Wyrm doesn’t want you for its master? It belongs to me. I’ve honored it for years, keeping its existence a secret from the rest of the world, save for a few…nosy people with unusual talents.” She narrowed her eyes. “But since you took it, we’ve been making less and less money. I won’t have that! That’s why I have to get the Wyrm back!”

Weevil paused in his pounding of the cabinet and rose to his feet. “You’re not out to take over the world?” He sounded confused.

She sighed. “Of course not. That would take, like, way too much time. And who needs that much attention? I just use the Wyrm to keep getting richer and richer. If you’re rich enough, you feel like you own the earth and everything on it. That’s the only feeling that matters. Nothing else even comes close.”

“Oh, yeah?” he snarled. “What about sweet…victory?”

“Money _is_ victory.” She ground her fingernails into her palm. “I don’t care how much blood I have to spill to get richer and richer and richer!”

From Rex’s side, the dealer added, “That’s right! And when you beat this joker, we’ll be back to doing just that!” Rex shuddered in his chains. 

“ _Back_ to doing it?” said Weevil. “You mean you—”

“Yes,” said Pink, a hissing undercurrent flowing through her voice. “I do what it takes to get along in this world, and what this world takes is a heart of solid steel. No matter what, I’m gonna keep my loyalty to the Wyrm. It was meant for me, not you! If it didn’t want me to win, I wouldn’t have destroyed your Insect Queen.”

“How can you say that?” 

The dealer squeezed Rex’s upper arm again with one hand and made a fist with the other. The pressure made Rex’s eyes bulge. 

“Look, the Pink Pangolin and I are the faithful servants of the Wyrm! Whatever we do to crush our enemies is what it wants us to do! And it wants us to get it back!”

Rex tried to ignore the pain in his arm as he asked, “If the Wyrm can talk to you even if you don’t use the powder, then how do you know you won’t just win this duel automatically?”

Pink sighed. “When you bind yourself to the Wyrm for long enough, it’ll give you powers that don’t have anything to do with your main objective. It can be remote viewing, psychokinesis, anything but clairvoyance, for reasons we haven’t figured out. But no matter what, you’ll still need the powder to use the Wyrm for its ultimate purpose.”

“More ultimate than all that other stuff?” said Weevil.

The lover of endangered animal products slammed her fist on the console. 

“Yes! The Wyrm’s powder gives you one thing that’s better than any other superhuman gift. Haven’t you figured it out by now? Or are you as dumb as a box of termites?”

Weevil folded his arms. “I resent that as much as I resent you not saying what you mean!”

Pink opened her mouth, but the dealer answered him instead. “Ugh! Don’t you dunce bags get it? When you use the powder, the more you want to win, the more you _will_ win. Anyone who’s got that powder on them will win any game against an opponent who doesn’t have it. Our will to power never let us down before. But you freaks must have wanted it more than us when you first started using our Wyrm. I’ve honored the Wyrm for so long that I didn’t think I’d lose to some long-haired tourist, especially one who smelled like pot, so I got cocky when I dueled your friend. I should’ve known that the Wyrm required more sacrifice than I had been giving it…and now it’s gonna get that sacrifice.”

“Hmph. We’ll see about that,” said Weevil. “It’s my turn now, and I activate the magic card Verdant Sanctuary!”

A lush green forest sprang up and grew to cover the entire field.

“Verdant Sanctuary allows me to summon any insect monster with a level equal to an insect monster that’s been sent to my graveyard. And I summon Cross-Sword Beetle in defense mode!”

Beside Armored Bee appeared a large black beetle with a quartet of gaping yellow mandibles.

“I also switch Armored Bee to defense mode.”  
Another giggle escaped from Pink. “You think that’s going to help? I told you, no first-rate duelist would hide behind defense mode. Carrion Claws, my Ghoul Queen!”

Nitocris sprang across the field and raked her nails through the insects’ bodies.

“Verdant Sanctuary doesn’t mean much when _there are no other level-seven insect cards_.”

Weevil gulped audibly. “How did you—”

“You thought I didn’t know that? What kind of fool do you think I am? Face it, insect monsters are weak little suckers. No one who specializes in bugs can defeat me—not when I have Nitocris!”

“ _Weak little suckers_?” This time, Weevil punched his console. “You’ll eat your words! I activate Spellbinding Circle!”

A green circle crackling with blue light enclosed around the Ghoul Queen, who stood immobilized within it. 

_When did Weevil get a Spellbinding Circle? He never played that against me! This duel’s gonna keep me guessing._

Pink painted a forced grin on her face.

“Ha! You can’t trap me forever. All you can do is stall for a couple of turns while I get even stronger. Like, right now—I play Charnel Ghoul in attack mode!”

One of the rubbery-looking dog beasts that the dealer used against Rex took its place beside its caged ruler.

“Sure, on its own, Charnel Ghoul is a weak sucker, too. But you have no monsters on the field. Attack his life points directly!”

The ghoul executed an apelike run across the field and clawed at the air in front of Weevil’s console, taking eleven hundred life points and making the other half of one floor square and the bigger part of another crumble into pebbles.

“I told you, there are no insect cards that are powerful enough to defeat my souped-up Ghoul Queen! She’s got thirty-two hundred attack points now…and this circle won’t last!”

“Oh, yeah? I summon Insect Princess in attack mode!”

A human-shaped insect with bright green chitin and pink butterfly wings fluttered onto the field.

“Insect Princess, dust up her Charnel Ghoul!”

The girl-shaped insectoid flew over to the ghoul and sprinkled a sparkling pale powder on it, causing the canid creature to burst into pieces. Behind the Pink Pangolin, something else crumbled into pieces: the greater part of a floor stone.

“I won’t be losing for long. I summon Dark Magician Girl in attack mode.”

In a brief flurry of hearts, a staff-wielding young woman in a pink-frilled blue leotard and conch shell-shaped hat appeared beside the trapped Ghoul Queen.

 _Huh?_ thought Rex. _That old chestnut of a cutesy card is in this creepy woman’s deck?_

As though reading Rex’s mind on Weevil’s behalf, Pink said, “It doesn’t hurt to surprise your opponent. Dark Magician Girl, Dark Burning Attack!”

A blast of dark energy burst from the Dark Magician Girl’s staff, causing the Insect Princess to explode and a small fraction of the floor behind Weevil’s side of the arena to crumble.

“Don’t get too excited. Since Verdant Sanctuary is still in effect, I can add another insect card to my hand. Hee hee! Just what I need! I summon Chainsaw Insect!”

A dark gray beetle with a double-bladed chainsaw extending from its mandibles appeared on the field.

“Saw through the Dark Magician Girl!”

The beetle zipped across the field and tore its chainsaw vertically through its screaming victim.

Yet another giggle arose from Pink.

“What’s so funny?” said Weevil.

“You have to know about Chainsaw Insect’s effect. If Chainsaw Insect attacks my monster, I get to draw one card.” She did so and then allowed herself a satisfied smile. 

“I’ll wipe that smile off your face soon enough!”

“We shall see. In the meantime, I use Graceful Dice to boost the attack power of my Ghoul Queen.”

A pudgy, peach-colored winged humanoid in top hat and suspenders fluttered in midair and tossed a blue die to the floor of the field. Pink looked down at the results and frowned.

“Aw…a one? Oh, well. That’s still thirty-three hundred attack points, which is more than any of your monsters have! Wait until I set her free, and then you’ll be sorry.”

 _She doesn’t duel as well as she should for someone who’s so arrogant_ , thought Rex. _But then, I guess Weevil’s been trying to make her underestimate him. She doesn’t know what he’s got up his sleeve._

In synchronous confirmation of Rex’s musing, Weevil laughed when he drew his next card.

“First, I lay this trap card on the field. Now I summon Basic Insect in defense mode!”

“Holy crap, a Basic Insect? Are you kidding me? Why are you laughing? And you’re _still_ playing defense! Come on, surprise me!”

 _You’re gonna regret saying that, you sadistic bitch_ , Rex thought. 

“Like you said, there aren’t any level- _seven_ insect cards that can beat Nitocris…but I have a level- _eight_ insect card that can!”

She scoffed. “A level-eight insect? Seriously?”

“You wanted a surprise? Here it is. I tribute Basic Insect and Chainsaw Insect to summon…Rlim Shaikorth, the Great White Worm!”

As Rex expected, as soon as the weaker insects vanished, Rlim Shaikorth appeared in all its grotesque glory, weeping its tears of blood and sobbing silently through its toothless mouth.

The dealer next to him cringed. “Ewwww, what is that thing?”

“It’s disgusting, that’s what it is!” said Pink. “And damn if it doesn’t have thirty-five hundred attack points!”

“Hee hee hee! Isn’t it great? It’s just the thing that’ll grind your Ghoul Queen’s bones to dust! Eternal Frost!”

Rlim Shaikorth spewed forth a swirling torrent of snow and ice that smothered the spellbound Nitocris until a glistening white mound replaced her entirely.

A few chunks of stone floor behind the Pink Pangolin broke off and fell, whereupon a growl issued from the pit.

In her baby voice, Pink whimpered, “Oh, noooo! That hurt the poor lizards!” Then she lowered her voice beyond its normal range. “How dare you!”

 _Opening up the floor was your idea_ , Rex grumbled mentally.

“Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t dare to do. So much for your mighty Ghoul Queen. Hee hee!”

The Pink Pangolin drew another card. She burst into a wry grin.

“What made you think she was the only powerful card in my deck?”

 _You playing a bunch of weak cards to start off with might’ve done it_ , Rex dared not say. The dealer had released Rex’s arm before now, but faint pains still twitched through his skin.

With a high laugh, she announced, “I sacrifice eight hundred life points and activate Brain Control!”

“ _Whaaat_?” cried Weevil.

Rex said nothing, but he thought the same.

A pink brain with a pair of green hands materialized and then grabbed the Great White Worm, placing it on Pink’s side of the field. She seemed not to notice that most of the penultimate floor square behind her had started to break off and fall.

“I bet you regret powering up this monster now, huh?” she taunted. “I’m about to take all your life points—and with them, your life! Attack, Rlim Shaikorth!”

Rlim Shaikorth’s mouth sobbed out another stream of snowy, icy wind in the direction of Weevil’s side of the field, and Rex’s last nerve broke.

“Don’t die, Weevil! _Don’t die_!” He no longer cared if the dealer hurt him, or what anyone did to him, for that matter. 

“I’m not gonna die! I was saving this for later anyway. Now I activate my face-down card, Mirror Wall!”

A jagged wall of reflective crystal grew up from the field and blocked the destructive white stream.

“And,” Weevil added, “now Rlim Shaikorth’s attack is cut in half.” The Mirror Wall disappeared from the field, but the White Worm now bowed its still-sobbing head to signify a weakening.

Pink stamped her foot. “Damn it! You are _so annoying_!”

“We could kill them both right now,” the dealer suggested.

“No, Daddy,” said Pink, making Rex’s heart feel slightly lighter. 

“Doing it this way generates more energy for our overlord. It likes stress in its victims, remember?”

The dealer stammered, “Um, yes, ah, of course, I just thought, it’d be easier if we—”

“Silence.” Pink shushed him with a motion of her hand. “I need to concentrate on the duel. Ooh, I would have won in one shot if not for that freaking magic card!” She shook her fist, and Weevil laughed. “And I guess it’s back to you, weakling.”

He sighed. “I summon Cocoon of Evolution in defense mode.”

A veiny pink cocoon quivered faintly onto the field.

Pink yawned. “Please, you’re sounding like a broken record. Defense mode this. Defense mode that. But then, I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else from a bug specialist. Maybe a match-up between the world’s best insect duelist and the world’s worst zombie duelist would be interesting….”

“That’s exactly what this is!” Weevil rapped his knuckles on the console.

“Don’t flatter yourself. First, I equip this gross thing with Black Pendant, raising its attack points by five hundred. Rlim Shaikorth, attack his Cocoon of Evolution!”

The White Worm’s blast of ice and snow penetrated the Cocoon, destroying it.

 _So much for playing the Perfectly Ultimate Great Moth. Man, this crazy lady’s squashing even the biggest bugs! And there aren’t too many big bugs in Duel Monsters…and all he has are bugs…._ Rex took a deep breath.

Weevil cringed. “Destroying one of my monsters with another of my monsters? Ooh, I’ll get you for that!” He looked at the card he had just drawn. “And I have just the card to do it with. I activate Nightmare’s Steelcage!”

A dome-shaped steel cage tipped with white spikes closed over Rlim Shaikorth. 

“Now you can’t attack for two turns!” He held up two fingers, as though the Pink Pangolin required visual aid. “ _And_ I summon another Insect Princess to the field, in attack mode.”

Another humanoid butterfly creature hovered in the air, and Pink snorted. 

“You think that’s going to do you any good? It won’t help when I can attack again.”

“You won’t like the outcome when you _can_ attack, lady. I end my turn.”

“All right, I play another Graceful Dice. This has gotta work out better than it did the last time.”

The expressionless, top coat-clad, pudding-like humanoid materialized on the field and tossed its blue die. This time, Pink laughed.

“A three! Well, that’s better than one. This thing’ll have twenty-five hundred and fifty attack points by the time it can attack, and that’ll be soon. I hope you’re prepared to die, punk, unless….”

“Unless what?” Weevil snarled.

“Unless you’d rather walk away. You can forfeit the duel right now, and we’ll let you leave.”

Rex saw Weevil turn to look him in the eye for the first time during this duel. _Not_ for the first time during their California journey, tears formed behind Weevil’s glasses.

 _Save yourself_ , Rex mouthed.

But Weevil just whipped back around to his opponent.

“Never! I’m in this until the end!”

“Ha!” said the dealer. “That end’s closer than you think.”

“It sure is, Daddy. Why don’t I make it even more fun by placing this card face down?” She did exactly that. “I end my turn.”

Weevil placed another card on the field. “I summon Grasschopper in defense mode.”

 _Why is he just summoning monsters?_ pondered Rex. _He’s so good at technical dueling! What’s he hiding?_

“If you’re trying to swarm the field,” said Pink, “it’s not gonna work. Besides, both of those monsters are too weak to destroy the White Worm, even in its de-powered state.”

“You’ll see what I’m trying to do…or maybe you won’t! Maybe I’ll beat you first!”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, you will. I place one card face down and end my turn,” said Weevil.

“Fine. I’ll equip _my_ new monster with Omega Goggles and take a peek at one of the cards in your hand.” A pair of goggles joined by a single staring red eye at the top affixed themselves to Rlim Shaikorth’s bleeding sockets. The Pink Pangolin looked down at her console and smirked.

Looking up again, she said, “A Monster Reborn? What, are you going to bring back one of your lame-brain insects? You’ve got no monsters that can defeat Rlim Shaikorth. After this turn, you’re finished, and I mean _totally_ finished! You risked your life for nothing, just some pothead who was too stupid not to bring back _our_ sacred Wyrm when we told him to!”

 _She’s right_ , thought Rex, not caring if the dealer saw him weep. _I got into this because of my own stupidity. I should have taken that statue from Weevil and destroyed it, no matter if he tried to stop me. At least then…then…_

Now he had ceased to care whether or not the dealer hurt him. He had to admit this to his friend. 

“Weevil, you can walk away from this!” shouted Rex. “It’s my fault I didn’t destroy the Wyrm when I had the chance! The voices talked to me first! I don’t care if I die now, just save yourself!”

Weevil sighed. “No, Rex, I’m gonna win this and get you out of here!”

The dealer punched Rex in the same area of the upper arm he had hit previously. “Shut _up_.”

Now Weevil turned his attention back to Pink. “You’ll pay for siccing your henchman on my friend. When you were looking at a card in my hand, you didn’t see the card you should really be afraid of. You may have my insect god, but I have a dragon god.”

Pink rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you have a Blue Eyes White Dragon! That’s just impossible.”

Rex gasped. Weevil could only mean…but how did he—

“No. I tribute Insect Princess and Grasschopper to summon…Yig, the Father of Serpents!”

And, indeed, Yig emerged on the field in all his scaly, feathered, hissing glory, as Rex knew he would.

 _How did Weevil get my card?_ Rex wondered. _I wouldn’t put it past him to steal it, especially while he was under the Wyrm’s control. Did he?_

“Good Lord, another big wriggling thing I’ve never seen before? What the hell is this?” said Pink. 

“You’re about to see what the hell it is. Yig, Fulsome Fangs!”

The Father of Serpents slithered across the field and bit Rlim Shaikorth in the neck, causing it to disappear. More of the floor behind the Pink Pangolin disintegrated.

“Well? Do you have any monsters that can beat Yig?”

At first, Pink said nothing, staring down at her console. Wearily, she raised her head and said, in a strangely broken version of her baby voice, “I pass.”

Rex gasped, and Weevil laughed.

“When I said that you shouldn’t be afraid of Monster Reborn, I lied! I can revive any monster from either graveyard, and the monster I choose is…Rlim Shaikorth!”

Once more, the giant sobbing, bleeding maggot-monster materialized on Weevil’s side of the field, taking its place beside the coiling Father of Serpents.

“Either one of these monsters is strong enough on its own to wipe out the rest of your life points…but there’s a combo I’ve been wanting to try, and now’s as good a time as any to use it. I activate Polymerization and fuse these two monsters together to create….” He paused, as though trying to christen this nameless creature. “The Conqueror Worm!”

The two crawling things merged in a flash of white light. In their place writhed a massive, blood-red reptile-annelid with a feathered crest that extended halfway down the length of its body. Its girth exceeded that of an elephant’s legs all stuck together. Where Rlim Shaikorth’s two empty eye sockets gushed red, this creature dripped black blood from the dark voids that would have been two of its eyes. What looked like one slit-pupiled yellow eye blinked in between them. A pair of fangs, even longer than Yig’s, gleamed through the darkness of the dungeon. Rather than roaring upon opening its mouth, this fusion monster twisted its body in a double loop and sucked on its tail.

 _There’s something awfully familiar about that monster_ , thought Rex. _I can’t have ever seen it before, but it’s like I’ve been introduced to it…or like it was really important to me for some reason._

“Now, Conqueror Worm,” said Weevil, “wipe out her life points! Mortal Pangs!”

The Conqueror Worm, with all of its five thousand attack points of might, sank its fangs into the air surrounding Pink. She screamed before, during, and after the monster chomped at her.

Finally, the hologram vanished. The side of the arena where Pink stood tipped backwards like a downward ramp, sending her wailing into the lizard pit. A few seconds later, she landed with a soft but scratchy-sounding thump.

 _She must have landed on hay_ , Rex observed.

The lizards’ footsteps indicated uniform motion in a single direction now. The growling lowered to a bass rumble that reverberated as a steady single note.

“Nice lizards,” Pink mewled. “You wouldn’t eat your own mistress…”

A blood-curdling shriek was her next and last utterance, followed by the permanently mind-altering sounds of animals tearing into human flesh and bone. 

For a moment, the dealer stared and gaped at the pit where a pair of oversized lizards consumed his employer’s body. His mouth dropped open, but no sound came forth.

Then, he exclaimed, “I’m coming, baby!” and dashed headlong into the pit. His own screams of fear, which carried throughout his plunge, escalated into all-out howls of panic and then agony when he hit the bottom, where the lizards turned upon him. Noises of crunching and slobbering continued for what must have taken seconds but seemed to go on for hours.

And then the two friends were alone. 

Breathing in and out, Rex registered nothing until he heard Weevil’s voice in front of him.

“Hold still, Rex.”

With the psychic bludgeon, which the dealer had left on the ground, Weevil burned through the steel shackles that held Rex to the slab. Rex began to slide down, and Weevil caught him and set him standing on the floor. 

“Come on, we’ve gotta get outta here!”

The two of them joined hands and ran all the way out of the basement, slowing down and catching their breath only when they reached the stone staircase leading up from the dungeon and into the civilized world above. Light streamed through the top of the stairs, beckoning them to replenish themselves in the merry new-dawning morning. But that would have to wait. Feeling winded, Rex sank down to sit on the steps first, and Weevil followed shortly thereafter.

For a little while, they simply sat there. Rex tried to process what had just happened in the last several hours. He was kidnapped and tortured; he had a dissociative moment in which he took down a _Triceratops_ with a pack of _Troodon_ ; one of the _Troodon_ turned into a woman who told him some cryptic stuff about the Wyrm and his relationship with Weevil; Weevil showed up and beat the woman behind Rex’s abduction in a duel…now what?

All his attempts to answer that question evaporated when Weevil smoothed his hand down Rex’s temple. The touch of flesh on his skin made Rex tremble, and Weevil drew his hand away.

“Poor Rex. They tried to kill you, and it’s my fault. But you’re safe now. _We’re_ safe now.”

“Are we safe? _Are_ we?”

Weevil drew his knees up to his chest. “Unless those lizards are gonna come after us, I think we are. And they won’t come after us—they’re thankful to us for feeding them! Those poor things looked like they hadn’t had a meal in days.”

“You know you killed the Pink Pangolin, right?”

Weevil waved his hand dismissively. “She brought it on herself. So did that dealer guy.”

A hush fell over them both. At the sight of Weevil’s hand reaching toward him again, Rex shrank back, but his friend’s fingers ran through his hair rather than contacting his skin.

“Why did you run away when we were in danger? I thought you’d abandoned me.”

“I didn’t run away. The dealer knocked me out right after he knocked you out, but I came to in his car while you were still out cold. While he was dragging your body down the stairs, I escaped and went back to the hotel to get our car so I could break you out and drive you away from there.” He paused. “I would’ve stolen _his_ car, but he didn’t leave the keys.”

Another question jabbed at Rex’s mind. “What happened to the Wyrm?”

“It’s in the car. If I brought it with me inside the dungeon, the dealer would’ve taken it, and I didn’t wanna think about what would happen then.”

“We gotta destroy it.”

“I know. It’ll kill us if we don’t.”

“First chance we get, we’re gonna take that thing apart.”

An equally weighty matter suddenly stabbed at Rex’s heart. Now that the immediate danger had been conquered, there was something else to consider.

“Y’know, when we destroy the Wyrm, we’re gonna have to rethink our entire life plans. We burned our bridges—well, _you_ burned our bridges—with Cutcliffe, so we can’t go back to working for her. How are we gonna make a living? How are we gonna settle back into normal life? We can’t put our time in a criminal organization on a resume!”

“Oh, gawd…oh, gawd, you’re right. We were gonna be gamblers for all our lives…and now the chance for all that money…it’ll be gone!” Weevil removed his glasses to engage in a series of loud sobs.

Grimacing, Rex felt tears prick at his own eyes. “Please stop crying, ‘cause now I’m gonna…oh, damn it!” He allowed the floodgates of his eyes to burst open and joined his friend in wailing.

They clung to each other and wept as the sun rose outside.

* * *

Although they did not resolve their problem, Rex and Weevil eventually dried their eyes and drove to a taqueria for breakfast. They chose a table for two by the window, the only one left by the time they arrived, despite the earliness of the hour. Their server brought them both fish tacos with pico de gallo and lime wedges. Rex had requested shreds of cheese on his meal, which he now consumed with fervor.

“I hate to say it, Rex…but I think we’ll have to go back to fast food and supermarkets for a while,” said Weevil, whom Rex knew full well wrinkled his nose slightly at the sight of Rex wolfing down his fish, sauce, cheese, and lettuce.

Rex swallowed. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and grumbled. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that, but I was thinking it too.”

“And we can’t ask for our old jobs back.” Weevil stirred the fish inside his open taco shell with a fork. “We quit. We’ll have to go to some other places and tell them we took a month off to go to community college or something. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

He got up and walked in the direction of the bathroom, leaving Rex to chew his taco solemnly.

Suddenly, Weevil’s cell phone rang from across the table. Rex could not see who the caller was, but he picked up the phone and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Weevil?” Kiki asked in a high, breathless tone.

“No, this is Rex. What is it?”

“You have to come back and help us! We’re in big trouble over here!”

Tension gripped Rex’s heart. He shot up to his feet. “ _What_?”

“Somebody ratted about the Scarlet Citadel!” 

“The cops are after you? How can we help you with—”

“It’s not the cops! It’s worse than that!”

“What’s worse than cops?” 

A thump sounded from Kiki’s end of the line. “Help! They might already be here!”

The call ended, and Rex’s palms began to sweat. He took off after Weevil, who bumped into him coming from the other direction.

“Weevil! It’s Kiki!” Rex said, rubbing his head after the impact.

“She called my number? What did she want?”

“She said someone found out about the Scarlet Citadel, and they were in danger ‘cause of it! She said they needed us back there!”

Weevil cocked an eyebrow. “After I quit, Kiki wants us back?”

“She sounded really serious. Let’s pay the check and get back home. We were going there anyway, weren’t we?”

“I guess.”

* * *

Their check paid and their belongings, including their cash prizes from the games of chance and duels they had won, in the backseat, Rex and Weevil hopped into their car and began the drive back to the airport that had led them to Los Angeles.

At first, the experience seemed anticlimactic enough: the traffic was congested as always, but with the two friends by each other’s side and college alternative rock playing on the radio, everything appeared to be returning to normal. 

Then Weevil made a left turn and sped up by ten miles all at once. 

“Whoa, why’re you going so fast?”

“I didn’t mean to! Let me try to slow down.”

Weevil eased his foot off the pedal only to press back down on it. Now he was doing eighty-five miles per hour in a seventy-mile zone. Other cars swerved frantically out of the way as they saw the purple convertible hurtling toward them. Other drivers and even pedestrians cursed at them and yelled for them to slow down.

“What the hell, man? Slow down or we’ll get a speeding ticket! No, screw that, you might run someone over!”

“I can’t! I’m trying to, but it’s like my foot’s stuck to the pedal!”

The speedometer swung toward 95, and the convertible zipped towards the beach. 

“We’re not even on the road anymore!” shouted Rex.

“M-maybe the sand will slow us down!”

But they tore through the sand as easily as though it were asphalt, leaving tire tracks and forcing screaming sunbathers and beachgoers to run out of their way. Their speed increased still further as they hurtled down the pier, where a shrieking fisherman in flip-flops, a T-shirt, and trunks jumped upon a wooden post for dear life. Two more people in their swimming gear dove immediately into the water.

“Put the brakes on! For Gawd’s sake, Weevil, _brake_!” Rex cried as the edge of the pier came in sight.

He saw Weevil’s other foot jab at the brake pedal only to remain frozen just above it.

“I can’t brake! We’re gonna—”

As they plummeted off the pier and into the ocean, Rex thought of nothing other than what he should have said to Weevil before now.


	8. Chapter Seven: Every Jerk has a Sensitive Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes spouted by the Swami Chinmayi are from the two theme songs to _Josie and the Pussycats_ , written by Hoyt Curtin, William Hanna, and Joseph Barbera.

_Blessed are the lovers just beginning to learn._  
_Blessed are the fires just beginning to burn._  
—The Everly Brothers, “A Kiss is a Terrible Thing to Waste”

  
Rex’s eyes opened on a white ceiling. The first sound he heard was the rolling of waves. He lay supine on a soft surface. Turning his head to the right, he saw a wall painted light blue. 

This was not the hotel room he had been sleeping in. 

Then he remembered that he and Weevil had just fallen off the Venice Pier and into the Pacific Ocean. 

“Hey, Weevil, I think—”

He looked to his left to discover that he lay alone on a large white bed. And, indeed, the room contained only one bed, but that was not Rex’s chief concern.

 _Where did Weevil go?_ A pang of fear chilled his heart. _Did he survive?_

Wherever Rex was, he had to find his friend. He rose to his feet, walked out the slightly ajar door, and stepped onto the deck of a boat. Although crestless blue waves lapped at the boat’s side, the water remained calm, stirred only by a gentle breeze. A few fluffy white clouds dotted the bright blue sky, and the smell of salt pervaded the atmosphere. As Rex leaned against the guard rail, he felt the sun press on his scalp and the wind caress his skin. 

_Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I did hear water when I woke up. Some fisherman must have found us…or at least me!_

“Where are you, Weevil?” he asked, turning around to the other side of the boat.

He had only a few seconds to discover the answer to his question. Right around the central cabin, dressed in a red bathrobe that hung off his body and extended past his legs, sat Weevil, dangling his feet under the guard rails and over the water. His other hand rested on one of the rails. A look of quiet contemplation rested on his face. In his haste to find Weevil, Rex realized that he had not bothered to examine his own attire. Looking down, he saw that he wore an oversized bathrobe much like his friend’s, save for its deep blue coloration. The clothes Rex and Weevil wore upon their vault over the pier hung over the railing. Rex blushed; he supposed their clothes were too wet to wear—but who had undressed them?

A tangle of questions all knotted themselves into one inside Rex’s mind. Which one to ask first eluded him.

“Hello, Rex.” Weevil continued to gaze out into the ocean. “Surprised to see me?”

Then a series of footsteps started from below the deck. Rex turned his head to see the person who approached him and Weevil, and it was one of the last people he expected to see outside of a Duel Monsters competition. That same tall, muscular, spiky-haired man he had seen years before as a teenager now stood before him.

“Mako Tsunami?” 

“Yes,” said the fisherman. “I was cruising around this coast when I heard screaming just a short distance away from me. I sped around to the sound of the disturbance, and there you were, falling into the ocean. What could I do but dive down and bring you up?”

“That’s…that was real nice of you,” said Rex. He wondered what he could do to thank Mako.

“It wasn’t about being nice. I only did what anyone ought to do,” Mako replied. 

“But you brought back as much of our stuff as you could,” said Weevil. “That was nice.”

Mako laughed. “Aw, shucks. For all I knew, everything you owned was in those suitcases you were clinging to. It sure was a good thing they can float. Otherwise, you might’ve drowned! You don’t exactly look like strong swimmers.” He cast a melancholy look at the floor of the deck and then presented his guests with another smile. Clapping his hands together, he said, “So. I want to hear how you fell into the ocean in the first place. Tell me all about it.”

“Well,” said Rex, “we were on our way to the airport, and—”

“You were going to the airport with weapons in your suitcase? That’s hard to believe.”

Rex looked at Weevil, who stared back at him with a similarly puzzled expression.

“You know, Rex, how _did_ we get through customs with weapons in our bags?”

“I dunno. But this whole trip’s been really weird.” Then he knew that he and Weevil would have to tell their whole story to Mako. No web of lies they could spin would be less bewildering than the truth.

“Promise you’ll believe us?” said Rex. “Or at least not laugh at us? Or at least not call the police?”

“Oh!” Mako perked up. “With opening questions like those, this story has to be good. Go ahead.”

Rex took a deep breath and then began the tale. He left nothing excluded, and neither did Weevil when it came time for him to take over. They spoke of their meeting at Fast Times and the night with Kiki that changed everything, the time they spent climbing the ranks at the Scarlet Citadel, their burglary of the Wyrm, and the myriad events that occurred afterwards. Rex watched Mako’s eyes grow larger and larger as the story went on, though the lines of judgement never creased the fisherman’s face.

“And that was where you came in,” said Weevil to Mako. “Thanks for hauling us up.”

At first, Mako said nothing, merely blinking at the men he had rescued. Rex wondered if he and Weevil had revealed too much. 

“You mean that you stole an ancient artifact from a small group of casino-runners who worshiped it, and they tried to kill you because of it? And you’re saying some unseen voices talked to you and told you to destroy the statue?”

Weevil opened his mouth to answer but closed it again, as though reconsidering what he was about to say. “Hmm…” he said when he evidently finished processing his response. “When you put it that way, it seems even weirder.”

“If that hideous statue I pulled up with your suitcases is the Wyrm, I think I should’ve left it where it was,” said Mako.

Something occurred to Rex.

“Mako, what’d you do with the Wyrm?”

“It’s below decks. Should I leave it there?”

“No,” said Rex. “Would you bring it out? …Please?”

Mako smiled. “Of course!”

He disappeared into the lower level of the boat, and Rex sat down beside Weevil. 

They both scanned the seemingly infinite expanses of blue—a bright blue above, a deep blue below. Except for the waves lapping over another and a squawking seagull that swooped down to capture a jumping fish in its beak, not a sound resonated for the next couple of minutes.

As he did those nights ago in the hotel room, Weevil pierced the silence.

Without facing his friend, he cried, “Rex…oh, Rex…damn it!” 

“What?” Rex scooted slightly closer to him.

Now Weevil faced Rex, who could see the tracks of tears staining his face. “I’m _s…sor…sorry_!”

Before Weevil could wipe the tears and mucus on the sleeve of his robe, Mako appeared on deck again, holding the Wyrm beneath one arm. 

“I found it!” he said. “It was wedged between my cooler and the wall.” He extended it to the two other duelists, and Weevil grabbed it and raised it to his face. Rex observed him looking into its white eyes as though engaged in a staring contest.

“I know exactly what came over me…and I know just what to do about it.”

Before Weevil could do anything, Rex stayed his arm. 

“The voices talked to both of us. We have to destroy it together.”

Weevil laid the Wyrm down on the deck. “You go first.”

“Hold on a moment!” said Mako. “Let me help you.” He walked back to the cabin door, detached the fire extinguisher that hung beside it, and handed it to Rex.

Rex raised the extinguisher above the statue. Just before he brought it down, he noticed that the rubies that were the Wyrm’s eyes had turned white—but he refrained from any analysis thereof as he struck the malevolent little artifact again and again, until all that remained of it were golden shards and a pair of whitened rubies. 

A twinge of regret tweaked his heart as he shoved the pieces toward Weevil. “Now you.”

The other duelist picked up the pieces. A few seconds passed as he stared silently at the shattered gold and gems that twinkled in the sunlight. 

“‘Fire is its own element.’” He paused. “Yes, the voices were right. I know just what to do. I’ve done it before.” 

With a flourish of his arm, he threw the broken bits of the Wyrm into the sea.

“Good riddance!” 

“I’ll say,” said Mako. “If the Wyrm is as bad as you say it is, it would have sunk my boat.”

Not wanting to admit that he had entertained that very same thought, Rex looked at Mako. “Hey, I just wanna ask: where’d you get this boat, anyway?”

“I finally won enough tournament money to buy one this size. This is the boat my father would want me to have.” He patted the rail as if to reassure himself.

“What?” asked Rex.

The shorter men listened to Mako’s story of a seafaring life with his father and its tragic termination. By the end, Rex noticed tears stinging his eyes. He raised the sleeve of his robe to his face, but it was too late.

“I didn’t think you’d be so moved,” Mako said. “But it helps to know that you care.”

A phlegm-choked snort arose from Weevil, who blew his nose on his sleeve, stained already during earlier parts of Mako’s story. 

“Of course we care!” Another tear trickled from Weevil’s eye. 

“You said that your friend Kiki was in trouble. I don’t know her, but I can take you back to her. Where’d you say you came from?”

Rex told him.

“Ah. That’s not too far away from here—we’ll be there within a day.”

“It might be too late,” said Rex. “She hasn’t called back since…how long ago did you find us?”

“I found you yesterday.”

“Yesterday!” Rex and Weevil stared into each other’s eyes. “Weevil, you don’t think—”

Weevil shushed him with a finger and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his robe. “Excuse me, I gotta take this call.”

Rex wanted to ask him how he could dismiss their discussion of such a serious matter so coolly, but the one side of the conversation he heard dispelled his concern.

“Hello? Oh! Kiki! You’re alive! Yeah, we remember; we’re not _such_ dick weeds that we’d leave you to die. Wait, what? Cutcliffe’s gone, but you’re okay? So, did the cops take her but not you? Oh, yeah, there weren’t any cops. But we should still come back soon? What do you mean, there’s a surprise for us? Um…okay. Bye.”

He pressed the button to end the call and returned the phone to his pocket.

“Your friend is all right, then?” asked Mako.

“I guess,” said Weevil. “It’s so weird. She says Madame Cutcliffe’s been taken out of commission! Permanently!”

A mound of ice fell on Rex’s heart. Now they could never get their jobs back even if they begged. His throat tightened as he contemplated having to work in fast food again.

Weevil continued, “And Rex, you said that Kiki was scared for her life when you talked to her, but now she says she’s fine!”

“Uh, that’s good, then. But you gotta tell me what else she said. What’s this about a surprise?”

“She didn’t say what the surprise was, just that we had to go back to the Scarlet Citadel and meet her there.”

Mako stepped up closer to them. “If I may interject, you said that your boss is mysteriously missing, but her center of operations still exists?”

“Kiki said it does,” said Weevil.

The ice around Rex’s heart started to melt. Maybe they need not scrabble in the unrewarding world of service after all.

A broad smile spread across Mako’s countenance. “Then what are we waiting for? I’ll get you back there within twenty-four hours!”

* * *

Fortunately, Mako, Rex, and Weevil all reached their destination during the morning hours. Mako bid his former guests farewell, and Rex and Weevil bid their host several thank-yous, before the former returned to the aquarium and the latter two headed back to the Scarlet Citadel. Their suitcases, still full of money that luckily had remained untouched by the salt water, weighed them down slightly, but the bus ride to the vicinity of the site of the men’s earlier employment was reasonably swift.

When they reached the building where they had sold so many bootleg goods and grams of marijuana, they gasped. The Scarlet Citadel that they knew no longer existed. The address was the same, but almost every other aspect of the location differed entirely. Where once a hand-painted sign in red and white pronounced the building THE SCARLET CITADEL, a similar sign in lemon yellow and blazing green re-dubbed it THE SNAKE PIT. Peering in through the windows yielded not a sight of the dolls, posters, DVD cases, and Duel Monsters packs that Rex and Weevil were used to but rather row upon row of arcade cabinets. Attract modes flashed at the onlookers, beckoning with images of knights charging through fields, demonic faces laughing at tiny spaceships, cartoon dragons shooting bubbles, and a vast array of other delights only games could provide. The glass counter was all that remained of the building’s interior features. No one was inside the arcade; the overhead lights were off, leaving the glowing cabinet screens as the only light source.

“This must be the surprise,” said Weevil. “The Scarlet Citadel’s something completely different now.”

From behind, the sound of light footsteps broke Rex’s concentration on the unforeseen sight. He turned his head to see Kiki, clad as before in black, walking toward the arcade with a set of keys in her hand.

“Kiki! You’re okay!” he said.

“I sure am,” she replied, turning one of the keys in the lock beside the door handle. She pushed the door open and walked inside, where she held the door and motioned to the two men. “You wanna come on in?” 

“How couldn’t we?” asked Weevil. Rex followed him into the arcade.

* * *

The next couple of weeks proved much smoother than Rex had feared. Working in the arcade was no worse than his life selling bootlegs and dealing pot, and scooping quarters out of video game cabinets was certainly better than flipping burgers. Furthermore, the Snake Pit was more than an arcade: the place also sold console games and model kits, and Rex’s face always lit up whenever the establishment received a new shipment thereof, particularly since there was always at least one dinosaur or dragon kit to assemble. 

However, the best part of his life’s direction was not hungrily eyeing kits that promised lifelike therapods upon completion. Instead, the crown jewel of this time in Rex’s life had to be moving out of his mother’s apartment and into a new place with Weevil. Rex had had little stress over explaining his long absence to his mother—she herself was absent from their residence so frequently that she never evinced much concern about her son’s whereabouts—and even when she was home, she rarely asked for an explanation of where he would be when he announced that he was leaving.

Thus, it was with a light heart that Rex introduced Weevil to Mrs. Raptor on the day the two young men moved out together.

“Now, I wanna apologize for the state of this place,” said Rex, as he walked up to the second story of the apartment building with Weevil. The dinosaur specialist opened the door of the rooms he shared his mother and led his friend inside, where they navigated past magazines and beer cans strewn on the floor.

On the living room couch lay Mrs. Raptor, sprawled on her back in front of the television, which blared a commercial for a set of knives.  
“Hey, Mom,” called Rex.

“Yeah?” 

“This is Weevil. Me and him are gonna get our own apartment.”

Mrs. Raptor raised her head to look at her son and his companion. “Oh, so this is the boy you’ve been telling me about.”

“Yeah, I won the regional Duel Monsters championship when I was fourteen! Don’t you remember?” Weevil’s expression of mild disgust changed to a look of consternation.

“Oh, okay. That’s nice.”

Rex knew that the tension would break sooner than later. “Uh, right. I’m just gonna get my things, and then we’ll get outta here.”

“You do that.” 

Rex grabbed Weevil by the wrist and pulled him into his bedroom, where Weevil watched him pick up another suitcase and stuff it with clothes.

“Jeez, Rex! Why’d you even bring me here?”

“I wanted Mom to know who you were before I told her we were gonna start living together.” Rex knelt down and pulled a stack of comics from under his bed and then flung them into his suitcase.

When he had finished packing, Rex returned with Weevil to the living room, where Mrs. Raptor now watched a commercial for a collection of shiny necklaces.

“Mom, I don’t know if you heard me the first time, but I’m moving out and going to live with Weevil!”

“Okay. Enjoy the rest of your life.”

* * *

The apartment Rex and Weevil moved into was an improvement over what Rex had lived in and what Weevil had just seen, though most apartments were. Previously, they decided to open bank accounts to deposit the money they had won from their games in Hollywood, but a sum of money that simply sat there did not impress their landlord. A month’s worth of income from the Snake Pit only allowed them to afford a one-bedroom setup, though with separate beds. At the same time, however, they knew that such an arrangement was for the best.

One night, as he settled into bed and heard Weevil step out of the shower from the bathroom next door, Rex reflected on this stage of his life. Or was it _their_ life—his _and_ Weevil’s—now? Perhaps it was.

The curtain had closed on this creature feature. It was time to leave the theater and go home. Now they would settle down into the routine of civilian life: working at the arcade, saving up money for the future, maybe going to college. No more wild adventures for them.

Wait, no more wild adventures? That would never do. If Rex knew anything about monster movies, it was that they just kept getting churned out, one after another. They continued until they spiraled off into oblivion. 

Even with this information in mind, he was still surprised at what happened the next day.

Closing time had fallen upon the Snake Pit, and Rex had placed the last model kit—his beloved Red Eyes Black Dragon—of the day on the shelf when he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

He spun around to see Weevil’s grinning face.

“Didn’t you hear Kiki? It’s a time for a meeting!”

“Oh, boy,” said Rex with a sigh. “A company meeting. I can’t wait.”

“She said there’d be something special about this one. Come on, let’s go into the back room and see what’s up.”

When he and Weevil entered the room behind the swinging red doors, Rex’s heart nearly skipped a beat. Kiki stood on the other side of the black table, as he expected. He did not expect to see the white-cloaked and masked woman of southern California on one side of Kiki and the sarong-wearing man-woman on the other.

“Hello, boys,” said Kiki. “Surprised to see anyone?”

“Um…” Words failed Rex, so some of the tension in his heart and stomach relaxed when Weevil issued a response.

“Well, you _did_ say this meeting would be special! How’d you get a hold of these people?”

The woman in white spoke first. “Kiki and I are colleagues. By way of her, I have been monitoring you. Now I can unmask myself safely.”

The woman pulled back the white cloth from her face.

“Ishizu Ishtar?” they asked.

“Yes. I have been pursuing unknown evils that threaten the world for many years, but the task is greater than any one person can withstand. You yourself discovered such a threat when you found the Wyrm of the Wastelands. The Wyrm’s existence was a mistake. It was an abomination fouler than the Other Gods themselves. There are those with far crueler hearts than you—or the Pink Pangolin—or your former employer. If someone with a heart more wicked than those you fought had owned the Wyrm….” She allowed their imaginations to complete the sentence. “It is over. The Wyrm will never trouble the living again. And we have you to thank for it. As I said, I _knew_ you two would make the right choice.”

“How do you know all this, lady?” said Rex. “And what happened to Cutcliffe?”

Kiki smirked. “Don’t think about old Madame Cutcliffe. She has nothing to do with you anymore.”

Rather than let that ominous reply sink in, Rex let Weevil’s ensuing question occupy his consciousness. “So, the right choice was destroying the Wyrm? Was that the ‘different path’ you were talking about when you gave us those cards?”

Ishizu nodded. “Destroying the Wyrm was the right choice, but you would not have made that choice without making another one first. And that reminds me: I appoint you the official guardians of Yig and Rlim Shaikorth. You have proven your worth as the owners of these cards.”

“How’d we do that?” asked Rex. In his mind, that was the least mystifying part of this whole equation.

“If you hadn’t destroyed the Wyrm when you did, you would have shown that you were unworthy of such powerful monsters. Again, you mastered yourselves, and so you mastered the cards. And that brings me to why I had Kiki call you here tonight.”

Weevil blinked. “Go on.”

Ishizu continued, “Our team searches the world for hidden forces that threaten mankind.”

“‘Everywhere the action’s at, we’re involved in this or that,’” said the Swami.

“And you can be, too!” Kiki added. 

“What? You’re not asking us to all play in a band together, are you?” asked Rex.

“Or are we going to drive around in a van, solving mysteries?” Weevil suggested.

Chinmayi shook its head. “But you will be ‘blasting off on another chase.’”

Weevil tittered nervously. “Hearing you talk that way makes me feel…camp.”

“Go with the feeling,” Rex said to him. Then he turned to Ishizu. “You mean you’re...”

“Giving you a second chance? I am. If you join our organization, you will rid the world of the obscurest yet deadliest threats to its existence. You will face danger that few would dare to imagine, but you will also know excitement and wonder you will never see elsewhere.”

Rex and Weevil looked at each other with grins drawing quickly across their faces. Holding their expressions in place, they looked at Ishizu.

“That’s a no-brainer! We’re in!” said Rex.

“A no-brainer? Of course _he’s_ up for it!” said Weevil. “And I am too!”

“Why, you—”

Ishizu held up her hand. “There’s no need to argue. I am inordinately pleased that you are joining us.”

Weevil rubbed his hands together. “When do we get our next assignment?”

“When the time comes, I will let you know,” said Ishizu. “Now, if you will excuse us, the Swami Chinmayi and I have to determine when and where to target the next threat.”

She walked out of the back room with the Swami in tow, leaving Rex, Weevil, and Kiki by themselves. The young woman looked at her male coworkers.

“So, what do you think of Ishizu? She may not have her Millennium Necklace anymore, but she’s still got her far-reaching visions.”

“You don’t need a magic item to do magic?” said Weevil.

“No,” said Kiki. “Just like you never needed to cheat to win. You had no reason to oppose the world. The honest way was always open to you; you just had to see it. Remember how you beat the Pink Pangolin all by yourself without using the Wyrm’s powder?”

The first second after that question left Kiki’s mouth, Rex thought nothing of it. Then he took another second to turn the sentence over in his mind, and horror pierced his heart. One look at Weevil revealed that the same thought had fallen into his mind.  


“We didn’t tell you about that,” said Weevil. “You couldn’t _poss_ ibly know that!”

His heart still pounding, Rex tried to phrase his next question in the most diplomatic, un-frightened way he could imagine. “Was that you?”

“Was _what_ me, Rex?” Her smile suggested that she knew exactly what he meant, but he played along.

“You were the one who showed up in my mind,” he said, pointing at her. “You were the _Rhamphorynchus_ in my dream and the _Troodon_ when I was being tortured, weren’t you?”

The smile remained as she fell silent.

It was all Rex could do not to grab her and shake her. “I called the Pink Pangolin a sadistic bitch, but I think _you_ might be worse! If that was you, and you could talk to me whenever you wanted, then why didn’t you tell me everything I had to know before I got tortured? Or before Weevil and I fell off a cliff? Or before we even started using that wretched Wyrm in the first place?”

Now Weevil sprang to his feet and made a clawing motion at the girl in front of him. “There was never any danger here, was there? You cried wolf to get us to come back!”

Her giggle fanned the flame of fury in Rex’s heart. “Well, boys, I’m not the only one who ever spoke to you in your minds. There were…others who sent you messages. Besides, how do you think you got through airport security with weapons in your suitcase? Or pulled off jewelry heists without getting caught? And for another thing, weren’t you listening to Ishizu when she gave you your Other God card?”

“Yeah, but nothing like this came up in conversation!” said Rex.

“Oh, but it did. Only humans have human kindness.”

“What the…are you a vampire?” Weevil asked.

“No. Why don’t you just go home and worry about your next assignment? What I am shouldn’t mean anything to you.”

When the young men left the store, they took the time to stand on the sidewalk, look at the cars passing by, and collect their thoughts.

“Well, that was wild,” said Rex. “I need a freaking toke.”

“You know, I think I’ll partake, too.”

* * *

A smell as offensive as sulfur permeated the apartment bedroom, and yet its occupants sat contentedly upon the two beds they had pushed together. The odor originated from a joint Rex clutched in his hand. His other arm he draped around Weevil’s shoulders. Food surrounded them: a half-full, grease-stained cardboard bucket of chicken wings sat to Rex’s right, two bags of miniature doughnuts (one powdered and one chocolate) squatted next to Weevil, and an open box of sugary, vaguely fruit-flavored cereal lay open between the young men.

In all his life, Rex had never felt this much pleasure all at once, especially after experiencing such intense pain. His consciousness swam in a pleasant fog, as though he could make sense of nothing but did not care to understand the world through typical thinking patterns. All that mattered now was the vista of cosmic perception he had just discovered—and the man beside him.

“Mmm, do you feel better now, buddy?” asked Weevil. “‘Cause you were right. That _is_ the stuff.”

“It’s so much better now. Much, much better!” An uncontrollable laugh erupted from him. “Don’t you wish we could feel like this all the time? Hey, what if everyone could feel like this all the time? Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

“Ooh, yeah. Everything would be _soooo_ peaceful.”

They paused their conversation as Rex released Weevil, reached into the box, and grabbed another handful of cereal. As he popped the artificially colored and flavored imitation-fruit rings into his mouth and began to chew, he became aware of a stirring in his loins.

“You wanna fuck, pal? I’m _real_ horny right now.”

His friend cackled. “Sure,” he replied, unbuttoning his shorts.

Before Weevil finished rolling over on him, Rex held up his hand. “Wait a bit.”

“Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have just assumed you wanted it that way. You wanna get on me instead?”

“That ain’t the problem. I thought we might, like, do something…different.”

“Um…like what? You got toys in your backpack?”

“The hell with it. Let’s just do it. Lie back.” He blew out the joint and set it down in the ashtray on the nightstand.

Under the blissful haze of White Widow, they got lost in their own private jungle, a wet, hot miasma, a vortex of passions so primal that they seemed almost pre-human. The two of them made love not with the soothing tenderness of childhood friends consummating a long-held attraction, the insidiously addictive tensions of master and slave, or the celestial spirit-to-spirit conjoining of reincarnated lovers destined to find each other in every life, but with the vigor and artlessness of the planet’s first mating pairs, the creatures that had crawled from the primordial ocean and onto the new-made earth. When Rex closed his eyes this time, he saw a golden comet streaking red through a starry night. As it soared into the jewel-spangled black distance, the comet exploded into a roseate sphere that illuminated the darkness. 

When he opened his eyes and felt his friend in his embrace, Rex realized that for years, it had seemed that he would always be a misfit, that any hope he had of becoming anything more than a nobody was a mere illusion. His destiny, it appeared, was as a loser who would always wish and wait for something better than what he had. He had peaked at age fifteen, and that peak was a low one. Nothing was out there for him, and he would never belong anywhere, or so he thought.

Now he knew that he did have a place. He belonged in his best friend’s arms, just as surely as Weevil, even if he did not admit it, belonged in his.

“Oh, Weevil…I know it sounds mushy and all, but…I love you.” He held his focus on his friend’s chest as though afraid to look upon his reaction. “I never wanna say goodbye to you again.”

But he met with an intense, smacking kiss on his lips, one that left him nearly gasping for air by the time Weevil pulled away.

“Rex, I love you. You’re the only thing that warms my bitter little heart. I’m so all alone without you.”

As Rex returned an equally face-sucking kiss, he contemplated that he would not only be glad to be the eternal partner of this minor, unpopular player in the grand drama of life; he would take pride in it. For all that other people might wield much greater worldly power, possess attractiveness and charisma he could barely even dream of, or receive the public’s esteem, he, Rex Raptor, who seemed insignificant and risible to everyone else, had the love of the one person on Earth who was meant for him, the man whom the fates selected as his constant companion. How many people could say that of themselves?

And as he nestled into Weevil’s embrace and lay back for more kisses, Rex felt something that he never had before. An idea popped into his head—an idea that his younger self would have screamed in rage at but that he now felt would put the crown on this relationship. When his mouth was free, he whispered the idea into Weevil’s ear.

“Do you really want to? Didn’t you spend a lot of money on those?” 

“It doesn’t matter now. Let’s do it.”

* * *

At the end of the alley between the apartment building and a grocery store that had closed for the night, Weevil held up a gasoline-soaked newspaper. 

“Your lighter, please.”

Rex flicked his lighter on and touched the flame to the papers, which Weevil instantly dropped into the open trash can next to them. The flames began licking immediately and rose until they reached the rim of the trash can.

“Okay, now!”

Rex unzipped his backpack and stuffed his fists with hentai doujinshi. He threw the smutty comics into the fire, where they curled up and blackened to a crisp. 

“Nice going, Rex!”

“I’m not done.” The backpack contained years’ worth of hand-drawn pornography; two fistfuls did not comprise it all. He bent down to grab more comics until he reached the bottom, where he dug around to make sure he had not missed anything. Then, when his arms were so full that they nearly collapsed, he released the whole mess into the flames. 

Weevil patted him on the back. “I’m glad you got rid of those things. Even though some of them were mine. Hey, we’re not gonna need ‘em.”

Perhaps it was just his marijuana-addled mind, but Rex became suddenly and intensely aware of something. Fire was the Wyrm’s element, but it was also the element of the phoenix, the bird that died only to rise anew from the ashes. And what was a bird but a feathered reptile? Was the phoenix not akin to the serpent that shed its flaking old skin to emerge shining and splendid? Did the serpent itself not recapitulate the shape of the crawling, writhing maggot that wrapped itself in its own silk and then burst forth as a resplendent butterfly?

_Evolve and thrive._

Gazing into the fire, Rex understood at last that, years before they even knew that the monster existed, he and his best friend had shared the blessing of the Conqueror Worm, the double loop that bound their hearts together, the all-devouring embodiment of infinity.

Love conquered all.

From the next block, a burst of funk music arose from what must have been someone’s jukebox. The vibrations of the bass and pounding of the drums sent a thrill through Rex’s spine, and he grabbed Weevil by either side of his waist.

“Wanna celebrate our new life of adventure?”

“Twice in one night?” Weevil laughed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

They leaned in for a session of pajama-clad physical bliss, this time with their hearts’ connection foremost in their minds.

With the music thumping in their ears and the fire blazing behind them, they capered in the rites of spring, and in the void that always accompanies carnal ecstasy, the whole planet seemed newly formed.

And oh, what world-ravaging colossi they would be!

  
  


THE END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirteen long years have passed since I last involved myself in _Yu-Gi-Oh_ fandom. After all those years, I can say that YGO fandom is the most rewarding fandom I have ever been in, and writing this fic was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my proudest moment as a fic-writer.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this story in its entirety. Even two weeks after the end of Shrimpshipping Week, you stuck with this fic. I’m glad you cared enough to wait that long.
> 
> Thank you to Eleanorose and Dreadblades on Tumblr for conceiving of and announcing Shrimpshipping Week, without which this fic would not exist. 
> 
> Thank you to Synthpop for inspiring me to flesh this idea out into a novel-length story. Did you know that this fic was just going to be a short little PWP at first? But then I remembered “Chaos Theory for Dummies” and thought, “I have to give Rex and Weevil some longfic.”
> 
> And, again, thank you to all the nerds, whoever and wherever you are. When I dedicated this story to the nerds of the world, I meant it. 
> 
> I felt alive with purpose while writing this story. Thank you, readers, for being there to witness it.
> 
>  _Ave Adventura_!


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